By Rumple Oxbridge, liberally elite writer of criminal verse
plead guilty in this literary sense:
my verse lacks the sort of literariness
that isn’t concerned with truth or nonsense.
In other words, it’s a verse of ideas
that doesn’t shy from meter or rhyme, the fear
of sounding like old Alexander
Pope. I’m just popping, Poping off against
all that’s illiberal and self-importantly dense . . .
It is no crime to give offense
to what offends morality and honest thought.
And does so with a style not overwrought
or dull and makes of journalism a sport.
And what better sport is there to do
than making fun of National Review?
It stands athwart Liberalism (and Poetry, too), yelling “Boo!”