From Aw Shucks, The Downhome Poet And Clodhopper

I force the present into its past tense

by certain, old-time phrase, which have hid

my strategy like ink-squirts from a squid,

though the archaic construct makes no sense

to highbrow scholars who take me to task,

but cannot comprehend how much I bask

in the relief that I have no hard times

drawing my clodhopping lines into rhymes.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

Lest PantyTwist misread my intention, the speaker of the poem is fictive.  My precedents from the Canon are Wallace Stevens, Le Monocle De Mon Oncle; T.  S Eliot, Gerontion and Portrait Of A Lady; and the character Tibald in Alexander Pope's mock epic, The Dunciad.

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