The Poetry Police

I've oxymoroned again.
I hope no one has noticed.
But sirens soar.
It's the POETRY POLICE.

Nervous, I attempt irony.
They take my licence
and slam me against the wall.
They raise their eyebrows at my spondees
sneer at my anaphora
check the tread on my alliteration
"This metaphor isn't roadworthy,"
they tell me. "Too obscure."
they caution me on the similes.
All cliches, they say

I should be grateful
it's only a fine. They missed
the tautology on the seventh line

I look up from the page
and contemplate the Ls
on the back of my P-plates.

Copyright; Garth Madsen