by Eddie Aderne

“Why has goblin porn eclipsed literary writing?”
—The Oldie

Can you conceive a headline more affrighting?
The great Reviews of Books fall back, forlorn;
For all their efforts, literary writing
Now finds itself eclipsed by goblin porn.

Though narratives be wholly unreliable
With temporally shifty points of view,
They can’t compete with the bizarrely pliable
Contortions of some hairy bugaboo.

“My works are polyvalent, polychromic!”
The latest critical sensation cries;
The answer is a line you might call gnomic:
“Our weekly earnings dwarf the Booker Prize.”

The cash pours in, the Gringotts vaults are rolling;
They’re quite unfazed by your distaste and scorn.
In fact, they class your best critiques as trolling,
The gloating marketeers of goblin porn.