Poetry

I think I can tell
Why poetry doesn’t sell:
Even if you stop up your ears
It will say quite plainly
What you do not care to hear
Within the crispness 
Of a line or two
It tells you
What you must not do
And all of us
Egoistical beasts
Who can read
All manner of things
And think to ourselves
Hey that’s not me
That’s about someone else
Definitely
Are felled by the kadak brevity
Of a verse or three
Just a couple of lines
Can get under your skin
And itch
There’s no curing
This virus too
You scratch it
It gnaws at you
Until the most recalcitrant
Is converted to
The poetry-virus’s
Point of view
Since there is no cure
Your best bet is
Not to get infected
By it
And that is why
Dear poetry reader
Shelves of poetry books 
Lie unbought
And why a poet’s company
Is unsought