Thank you, Amanda Gorman!

Will the villein submit their villanelles
for journal publication,
or will they say the hell with it?

Will submitting be a sour pill,
or will it be a jubilation,
so that submitting their villanelles

before a selection process won’t feel
masochistic (no publication
guaranteed, whether or not they say the hell with it)?

They just put their pecker on the chopping
block and make the decision
to submit their bleeding villanelles.

Not that they have a snowflake’s chance in hell
of competing with Amanda Gorman,
but after Gaga, Garth and J Lo sing, Into the sky with it!,

there won’t be anyone else,
besides them and us and J Bi, to rule the nation.
So, will the Villein submit their villanelles?
Nah, the hell with it!

Anarchy Burger

I get my marching orders from whom,
on a day when goons occupied the Capitol,
ordered me to learn that scary Vandals song,

Anarchy Burger. I’ll croon
it sweeter than a dove, and it will be my radical
choice to take my singing orders from whom

other than my best friend Ulalume,
on a day when our lame-duck maniac
President sent rioting orders to his vandal team,

whom he’d already gaslighted to their ghastly doom—
to them, dear and irreplaceable.
OK, so whom

do I really yearn for in my lonely room,
do I adulate and light a candle
for, so much as to learn that scary Vandals song?

Someone whom I’m at home
with, who’ll walk with me into a better world—
who'll be giving me my marching orders from
now on, to have learned that scary Vandals song.

Ground Hog's Day

Is it possible to leave without letting the door
hit me in the butt because I wish I could stay?
I thought I was all done, but I’ve been here before.

Always ready to help them what can't hear,
because they’re learning how to sing the hard way.
So, is it wrong to slam the door

on my only chance to embark on my world tour—
dropping back in the pocket like John Elway,
thinking Ive got a clear lane, but I’ve been here before

with my nose guard digging up flowers.
I thought I was untouchable, but I paid
a steep-ass price for closing the door

on a whole heap of genuine poetic manure.
In spite of all my friends could say,
I set out for the west because I’ve been here before—

dodging Aunt Sally, that civilizin’ whore.
I know I have to live life my own way,
so I'm leaving and I'm not letting the door
hit me in the butt, either. I’ve been here before.