I won't subject myself to the pain of rejection by entering this against the formidable array of talent the challenge has inspired, but I had to join in the fun. It's an old one resurrected and revised for the occasion:
TO MY CAUSTIC COLLEAGUES
How do I hate you? Let me count the ways:
I hate the way you muster with such ease
a rancid pot pourri of picturesque
vituperations; loathe the way you breeze
through versifying, mordant to burlesque;
I shake with indignation as you whisk
a casual opus from malignities.
While I sit drumming fingers on my desk,
you fashion gold from straw contumelies.
I hope one day to hear the frantic knock
of opportunity before my clock
runs down; I hope to greet a fawning flock
of publishers; I hope my ship will dock.
And, friends, I hope your syntax runs amok;
your metre melts; you choke on writer’s block,
and Lucy splits the pot a thousand ways.
oOOo
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