FREE VERSE

Verse,
Free of all rules
Of rhythm and rhyme.

First refuge of those
Who cannot tell
An iambic pentameter
From
A Pickfords pantechnicon.

Its anarchical formlessness
Enables lazy lovers
To pour their emotions on the page,
Line by uneven line,
And call it
Poetry.

Their collected works,
Duly xeroxed and stapled,
Take longer to read
Than they took to write.

Still, it's a free country -
Isn't it?
Poetic freedom-fighters unite.
Let my poem go!

V. E. COX