Halloween is not just for each costume-clad kid;
it also calls forth the treacherous Do-Does-Did.
He is a poseur who pretends to be a bard,
and all of his verses sound like some greeting card.
His rhymes, each and all, swing a halting end-stop;
and the swill that he publishes---worse than the slop
that we throw to the hogs. He struggles with words
the way a constipated baboon struggles to drop stinking turds.
He believes himself to be a literary missing link:
I say---not as long as stars still shine, and monkeys stink.
Starward