Rock on, Rock on, June Jordan; go!
Write on, write on, we feel your pain!
You spit some lines against the Man,
And the Man buys them back again.

And your bad poems become a joke
A poorly-punctuated whine
Insulting readers— and the Muse;
An unpoetic party-line.

The trashy verse you vomit forth:
Makes poets nauseous at your name.
Your screeds are easy to ignore,
And makes one doubtful of your fame.

HEAP the DIRT !

This Old Poem #3:

June Jordan’s April 10, 1999

Copyright © by Dan Schneider, 7/6/02