Poem on April 16
Our task today is to write a Skeltonic
but I don’t mean, when I say, to be ironic
that I’m glad our plague wasn’t bubonic;
it was bad enough, our case was chronic
and I think I’m supposed to keep up this sonic
rhyme scheme until I run out, subatomic,
of words that sound like a mixer, a tonic.
I guess it’s okay, half way, to sound moronic
on day 16 of 30 of this poetic catatonic
but I don’t know how long I can stay on it
because I can feel a cheat coming on, shit.