The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Blueprint nine that day;
The circ numbers were low, dwindling somewhere in the realm of 350K
And then when October’s ad sales came and went, and November’s did the same
An incensed publisher intervened, looking for someone to blame.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, ‘If only Martha would wait ’till after the New Year
To deprive us of our health insurance, our dental and holiday cheer.’
CONTINUED »
We might have nearly failed first year poetry, but we know for sure that Joni Mitchell???s poem in this week’s New Yorker is not good.
With so many squirm inducing lines, it???s hard to pick the worst. But this passage will have to do:
And you cannot be trusted
Do you even know you are lying?
It???s dangerous to kid yourself
You go deaf, dumb, and blind
And all this time we thought Joni Mitchell was a folk singer, not a rejected 8th grade girl.
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