It was going to be a busy night
down at the neighborhood poetry bar.
Entering I saw quite an amazing sight.
Inside were poets gathered from near and far.
Lined up all along the main bar
were the metered-poem traditionalists.
With my meters being way below par,
them I dodged, trying to keep off a ‘hit list’.
The free-versers sat at a corner table,
being pushy, hostile, and downright rowdy.
To write free verse, I am barely able;
so I decided not to even say ‘Howdy!”.
At another table sat ‘the midgets’…
poets writing tanka, cinquain, and haiku.
Approaching them made me fidget.
With my long poems, with them I’d never do!
Then I saw the table where the ‘rhymers’ sat.
I moseyed over, hoping to join the group.
They bid me welcome! Immediately feeling that
I had found my home, I let out a loud whoop.
They introduced me to their leader, Utah Jim,
the fastest poemslinger around. Jim can write a poem
on any subject, with chances of stumping him slim.
He wrote of my buying drinks before I could pour ‘em…
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