In a survey, poets expressed the belief
Surveys are not good subjects for poems.
The lyric poem does not ask what’s trending in grief,
But let me tell you what is making women sad.
Without fat, a woman has no curves:
Good figures are what the god, Love, who makes us happy, deserves.
Women lack confidence, and the number one reason for that
According to this survey, is they constantly worry about fat.
This poem is a disaster
Because it cites a survey.
In indignation, she just walked away.
Love, however, is the lyric poem’s master,
Love, who shoots the arrows, and misses,
Love, who falls upon us in a cloud of kisses,
Who whispers, through roses, at the museum,
The true turning of a Roman poem,
Lisped lyrically above the bosom.
Love will do anything to ruin
Love: Bring in poetry,
Cite surveys, embarrass me.