by Mardelle Fortier

Here again on midnight dreary, after hunting
weak and weary; back again knocking
                        on the chamber door.
In dim candles sits a poet, groaning and
moaning, while I’m rapping & tapping, getting
                        awfully sore.
Why me? To get stuck on fruitless mission,
shiverin’ and wishin’ I didn’t need to warn
                        of lost Lenore.
She’s not coming back, you nerd! I’m not a
dodo bird. Knock this through your thick skull:
                        “nevermore.”

Get with the meter! Give up Twitter! Now he’s sighing
& crying, while I’m banging & clanging with a noise
                        I do abhor.
My beak’s in hellish pain and though it’s pouring rain
he throws no speck of grain as winds
drink wine and roar.
I perch on this lunatic bust, with my sleek
black hair all mussed. Has Poe fallen
                        on the floor?
I’m the first rap artist, but do I get the credit?
Here’s a hundred ways I’ve said it. FORGET THAT
                        CHICK, LENORE.

*apologies to Poe and his masterpiece, “The Raven”