Let’s parody the poets for remembering us
In their blankety free verse, anonymous
Contributors to our self-worth.
That we effloresce without being aware
Of our ebullience is a tribute to our naked
Humility, a source of pride, really,
We should rejoice.
And how can we
Thank you for the subtle debauchment
Of our bargain souls?
Let’s parody the verisimilarity of words to things
Made up; let’s ape the mirror,
Acknowledge the gospel reflected in the glare
Of our asses.
They’re all so wry—the poets. So tongue-cheeked
And foxy. So literally figurative as selves like humans.
Sipping mimosas, mimesis as catharsis. Things come
To them in a flurry of mixed metaphors which they
Separate as all good recyclers do.