The Last Poet
Ten poets reading over a glass of wine
One mismatched subject and verb
And then there were nine.
Nine poets collaborating at a furious rate
One used seventeen clichés
And then there were eight.
Eight poets figuratively speak of heaven
One used it as an actual place
And then there were seven.
Seven poets set up into literary cliques
One walked out on his own
And then there were six.
Six poets celebrate the joy of being alive
One fell into depression
And then there were five.
Five poets published in five journals more
One had sent simultaneously
And then there were four.
Four poets went on a competition spree
One left out a submission check
And then there were three.
Three poets determined formal verse to do
One lost iambic pentameter
Then there were two.
Two poets only, under the reddening sun
One shot the other
And then there was one.