He left the newsbreak at CNN
when something flashed: He felt this awful line
He had to inscribe as if on stone.
But his guardian angel huffed & puffed about the TV being on
It would jack-up their Meralco bill!
He couldn’t utter a word: He was no Shakespeare.
You are rich, I am poor
Certainly, that’s not God’s call
You are good, I am bad
Certainly, that’s not God’s act
A simple truth it is, but central to the fact
Alas! It has come to this
Encoding tired, sloppy limericks
Words, you know, are precious, unique
O but truth happens every which way
Poetry on this mode is agitprop!
What then should I do, my friend?
Act as if nothing matters in the end.