"T. S. Eliot on Facebook"
illustrated by rhoda penmarq
If T.S. Eliot were alive today,
the motherfucker would be on Facebook
just like the rest of us, checking
his notifications, and being
disappointed when people didn’t like
his Youtube clip of Lucille Bogan’s
“Tricks Ain’t Walkin’ No More”.
He would loosen his tie late at night,
unbutton his stiff celluloid
collar and wearily scroll through
the six or seven poetry groups he
belongs to, wondering why so few
people were commenting on his links
to his new work-in-progress,
which he is calling “The Waste Land”.
Perhaps the title is too off-putting?
“I shall try to squeeze out one more line
tonight.” And with great effort he does,
and, sighing, he returns to Facebook.
He still has half a joint, which he has
been saving for after the night’s
creative work is done. Smoking,
and drinking that last can of Pabst
he checks his notifications again.
No one has liked his latest link yet.
“Tom! Are you coming to bed?”
“In a while, sweetheart!”
Oh, wait there’s a new comment:
“I hate it when poets put all these
foreign words and phrases in their poems.
Okay, you have an ejumacation, we get it!
Write in English, douchebag!”
That was certainly rude.
He knows he should simply block the fellow.
But instead he prepares a reply...
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