The Puppet Pete pronounces vapid vowels
And clueless consonants joined in a stream
Of noises imitating “words” which owls
Would not confuse with English trope and meme.
His “sentences,” like constipated bowels,
Refuse to move. “A Laxative!” they scream,
At ears and minds grown numb from such bland fare
That any hint of meaning would excite
Yet from his wooden lips no hint of air
Just vacuum: empty, hollow, banal, trite;
Which absence all adds up to “Nothing there.”
Those fish who see bad bait refuse to bite.
Still, party prophets promise in a poll
That Puppet Pete will soon be “on a roll.”
Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright © 2020