Woe to Those Poets of Easy Comfort! by Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue

Weekends in Connecticut,
chipper didacts, trust fund babies,
who live in cities but write of “nature,”
not as anyone who knows it sees it,
but as a kind of gentrified ecosystem.
Survival of the cutesy!

Woe to those poets of easy comfort!
May they wander for 4 times 10 years,
taking circuitous routes among quiet strangers,
while plagues of locusts
and insurance agents haunt them!

May they be cursed
with unflattering Facebook pictures
and boring, straight-laced children,
who will study engineering
and become life-long Republicans!

Woe to those poets of easy comfort!
May some unnamed Deity
visit their iniquity on their children
unto the third and fourth generation!

And may their words squirm from them
and hide in dark, maze-like corridors,
to be found by true poets
who always are at home in darkness!