What Happens To The Really Bad Poets - Poem by Patti Masterman
I wonder how Hell welcomes it’s own?
Are you first conducted to Purgatory,
Where you are steamed, massaged, and given
Pedicures and manicures and a new wardrobe-
Tailor- fitted, strongly constructed
Of the finest asbestos to last you
For the eons in which you will be inhabiting
The fire- and- brimstone quarter of the firmament.
Is there a grinning fiend who ushers you through
The majestic, not-so- triumphal Arch of Hades
And hands you a real skeleton key to the city?
Are you hoisted onto the shoulders of a troupe
Of imposing, masked beings in tophats, and carried along
To the sounds of tortured muscial instruments,
To the city square, where your name is lit up
On a large marquee, lights flashing, and a long line forms;
The abominations suspended long enough for
Everyone eager to shake your hand in person
As the newest acquisition to the Underworld.
Then you get to choose from Door #1, #2, and such?
I rather think it is not that way, and further,
If being a bad poet is reason enough to land in hell,
I am sure I am on a long, long waiting list.
But...I’ve still got some time to kill.
Comments about What Happens To The Really Bad Poets by Patti Masterman
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You