To the International Society of Poets
It was so wonderful
To hear from you and your poets again,
With the offer of awards and fame,
Especially during these troubled times.
The native uprising continues here.
All but gruesome poetry
Is out of the question.
Many good poets' bodies lie strewn about,
Most of them dismembered,
Or harpooned mercilessly.
The bad poets write on feverishly
At sixty characters or less per line,
In up to twenty lines,
Though we dare not leave the shelter of the hut in daylight.
The nights are worse:
The DRUMS.
Crocodiles are roaming free, feeding on the cadavers.
Now I risk all in the slender hope this message reaches you.
I have left my cheque book back at base camp,
Please send guns and money.
Sent as a joke to poetry.com
