The Ace With the Sweaty Brow

There’s a kind of poetic tone
that’s a no-no for me,
never fails to make me groan

quietly—almost like a bad pun,
but it’s not supposed to be funny.
It’s a tone

of voice that implies I can’t go home
until I’ve heard
you out. I want to groan,

but that would be impolite, so I remain
seated as your urgently-intended words
turn my complexion to a sickly green;

or else I take the bone
in my teeth, because I can’t run away,
and my voice joins the general groan

of approbation: What a POME!
I’ll have those precious words engraved
on my tombstone. In a solemn tone,
cue the groan!