In Defense of Rhyme

There are those who tell me

That a poem that rhymes

Is unnescessary.

There are those who say

A poem that rhymes

Is of the devil

Or the patriarchy

Or “kind of stringent, don’t you think?”

Their tellings and sayings

Spool around the cellar

Of an ivory tower

Whose black horses

And cakes which are a lie

No longer echo

In the halls of our great uncles.

Confusion is their currency.

Paragraphs

Are

Their

Playthings.

I do not understand this poem.

Neither do you.

I just wrote it to show ’em,

Figuratively, who’s who.