we lived in the columns of words

among definitions less heard

peeking our heads out through the O's

and standing up on tippy-toes

leaning back against a spare L

who whispered that he wouldn't tell

of our adjective-adverb abuse

and insisted on calling a truce

(crept slowly, ran fast, and the rest)

(put out their arms for arrest)

(flowery phrases repeating every few lines)

(agreed to less face time in poet's designs)

spell check laughed and we laughed right back

quickly changing the word "krack" to "crack"

slid down (down) d  o  w  n  to the bottom of V

dangled our legs down then leaned forward to see

scattered punctuation passed out on the floor

when   mr cummings   found it of   no    use    any-more

but a gathering of the very same words

this dilemma at once overheard

and told punctuation just where it was at

and said "if you think you got it bad, look at that!"

we're in the hands of Miss Gertrude Stein

and inane repitition's her line

we see ourselves so much we can't stand

when she gets that damn pen in her hand!"

a remembrance of that dueling pair

would be the warm coats that one day we'd wear

to the poets rest home when time steals the E

beside old Robert Frost and his tree

still gathering up strange and weird colored fonts

among weakened colons, broken hyphens and age dots

 by then slimmed down to one poem or less

the wheelchair-bound words could really care less

still spelling out in BIG FONTS that will SHOUT:

EVERY KIND OF LOVE REMAINS HERE

WE'RE POETS NOW, SO NO NEED TO FEAR

SO PLEASE BE A DEER, HMMM, OH, NO-- DEAR!

BECAUSE OUR PENS EVEN MIGHT SHED A TEAR

AND THOUGH OUR TALENTS WE STILL OFTEN DOUBT

WE WON'T SCREAM BUT WE MAY YET GIVE A POUT

AND REMIND YOU BEFORE YOU FEED THEM FRESH TROUT

THAT MR ELIOT PREFERS IF YOU PUT HIS CATS OUT!