If not this world...

This started out as a frustration with bureaucracy and ended up a sly remark on a society that may exist in a possible dystopian future. Includes a nod to Idiocracy. This was a lot of fun to write!


I built a poem. It's good as they get!
But I must get a poetic license for it
At least before anyone sees that it's mine
And the municipality issues a fine.

A license for poetry is what mollifies that
Which angered the Trumpen proletariat -
A license for poetry, where a fee is paid
And the poet's content approved for trade.

So off I went to the government bureau
With poem and references, tidy and thorough
With my identification and form printed online
With a belief that the system was fair, just and fine.

I edged my poem towards the window
Composing last-minute changes to the innuendo
Until the public servant at the workstation
Snatched it from me in exasperation

And said "New license or renewal today - wait
Did you get this approved? I don't see the date
Or for that matter, the form approving the intricate
Prose of this work. Filled out in triplicate."

I left defeated; the walk home was bitter
Both from the cold and from being a quitter
But who can compete with government forms
And the endorsed entertainment of "Ow, My Balls?"