Sic

I'm sorry for the small type of what follows, but the format of the poem doesn't work if each line doesn't fit on one line. If you can't read it as is, I've posted the entire thing (with stupid ugly formatting, and without the links) as a comment on this very post...


“I cannot come to camp today,” says Brandon M, “and by the way
“I want more money than I said. The guy I shot at, he's not dead;
“The guys I stomped, they're walking since. So let’s talk dollars, forget sense.”

Georgetown House worked really hard for this homage from the bard
(That’s me this time, not William S. – and how do you like that largesse?)
So she gets an entire verse (except the part on me, of course)

When others said “He’s a mistake” I gave the kid a brand-clean slate.
I thought he knew the chance he’d gotten, I thought he'd stop being rotten.
But I was wrong, others were right: this dog’s still looking for a fight.

LadyScot’s one of the ones who remembers the brawls and guns.
Donna played by private email, bringing up the new five-year deal.
(Joe D. – though he's off the mark – gets credit for the Whinehouse snark)

Rookie holdouts are the norm, but from a punk it’s just bad form.
If you’re that good, let’s see you prove it. We’ve seen you’re* ass, let’s see you move it.
Really, what’s your damage, Heather? I’m sorry, I mean Meriweather…

*not a typo, but a very clever play on words…