Poetry Slain And The Poet Patsy Poem by Shaun Cronick

We made you commit those dreadful acts,
You were always at our beck and call.
We'd wind you up, we'd lie to you,
To achieve your engineered downfall.

We played you like a tune,
Mere putty in our hands.
You never saw it coming,
As you carried out our plans.

You wrote in a book depository,
Our patsy for that infamous day.
As our assassin on a grassy knoll,
Blew good poetry's brains away.

Now the world wants you dead,
For what you have released.
Your poor poems complete our plot,
As good poetry lies deceased.

But shall good poetry ever arise,
We'll have to wait and see.
For we have more poet patsy's,
Programmed as our contingency.