I like poems, and sometimes I like a poem that rhymes. What I have always hated are rhyming couplets, two lines, same rhyme, restricting your thoughts, sounding like a nursery rhyme.
This poem is made up of more than twenty of the cursed things, but I hope you don’t notice.
It also contains an almost rude word, but I hope you’ll forgive me and blame it on the boogie, or on Michael Jackson anyway.
