(no subject)

End Times

It was the End Times, it was the era of guileful scamsters
on the Internet and at our doors, of heehaw goobers
setting the tone for national discourse, and of pinheads

hammering home their lessons, needling us. Spamsters
streamed their e-screen natter, You Tubers
remashed it, and the decibel level of dinheads

spieling their product endorsement turned us all to hamsters
pressing the pleasure levers in our cages for boobers
ajiggle with game show giveaways, and spinheads

angling the news to their advantage. Glamsters
strutted their butts on the catwalks, and their lubers
and polishers gave them to-die-for lips and French-tip peds

while, elsewhere, busloads of poetry jamsters
at a slam bewailed how various jewfers,
homos and niggahs were pummeled last night by skinheads

on the prowl. It was the End Times: pot heads, gin heads,
powergrubbers, heinie-lickers, all of the sinheads
of our global village Gomorrahs and their kindreds,

every sort from fatcat alephs to bulimically thin-zeds
whoring around on their yang-and-yin beds
ruled the world . . . while well-paid whamsters

diverted us with come-ons from the bargain bin, heads
of state played meaningless games like Rubik’s cubers,
and our robot leaders vacationed at their shiny zirconium tinsteads.

Albert Goldbarth