My Health Care Plan for America

Have the poets become doctors.

Those Bards will know what to do
with a diaeresis or epanalepsis. 
They’ll alliterate the appendix
with the rondelet, prescribe tropes
and tropes of chthonic for a nasty
limerick. They’ll scan meter 
and brain matter, listening for 
iambic pentameter through a
stethoscope. O apostrophe, 
they’ll say, you’ve had your
odes, now is the time for surgery
on your sonnets. They’ll ban 
the cruel practice of vivisecting
villanelles and no one will suffer
of enjambment
They’re cheap – anapaests 
can be removed for a couplet 
of bucks. The vaccine for Haiku 
flu has no side effects and save for 
an epic case, a poem is much 
less paperwork. Irony can 
finally be eradicated, though lord 
save us if there’s an outbreak 
of anacrusis.

Call them quacks,
call them ryhmesters,
but the public loves the option
of a heart crushing ballad
or bone setting verse.