April Love Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

In April the rain falls soddenly
on the lover and his beloved,
not as the leaves fall from trees
in November, yellow and red,
littering lawns here and there!

No, the rain falls in buckets
and drenches witless wretches
who fall for the latest lines
from paunchy green wolves,
poetasters who proclaim
that true art (whatever that is)
derives its value from the worship
of mankind (google GK Chesterton,
for God's sake!) through its exhibition
and performance (antecedent?)

He promises to liberate chombolones
like you and me from our affliction
(like alcoholics we are, you and me
who resist great fantasies? What?)
Never mind study and work -
evaluate art (or whatever) as you see fit!

Is it any wonder that there are so many
of us ignorant with teachers like this?


(Not yet published in Journal of Developmental Disorders)