by Julia Griffin
in response to Bruce McGuffin
I think that no one ever saw
A poet feel like Rupi Kaur.
Alas for obsolete old Joyce:
How fusty looks his every choice!
The genuine poetic urge
Requires us not to plan but splurge;
Not rhyme, like some old petticoat:
Just grab the i-Pad and emote.
But Joyce was killed in World War One,
When poetry had just begun:
He wrote on paper made of tree;
The Internet produced Rupi.