Your poetry, sir? It deserves not the label!
It's duller than cold broth, dried out in the ladle
Your scansion's pathetic! Your lines are clichéd!
You write like a teen who has never been laid!
Your mastery of language, neither subtle nor fair
Brings to mind an old bullock who is losing his hair!
The images are tawdry, and sleepy, and flat!
You, sir, are no poet! ANd that, sir, is that!

Rearden Gnash
Answers to Importunists
Slappem, Scilly and Flee, pubs.
Whackem on Derpayte, 1932