The day he arrived at his quite advanced age
My dear cousin Alfred proceeded to retire
A true social scientist for forty plus years
He began writing poetry, a calling much higher
Alfred’s sonnets were informed by his social science training
The rules: be clear, be accurate and objective
Stick to the facts, no fantasies, no feelings
Impersonal description, so lyrically effective
Pitfalls that Alfred avoids at all costs:
Flowery language, allusion, ambiguity
The personal, the subjective, the introspective
Metaphors, similes, any hint of incongruity
Alfred’s quest, you might say, is a radical venture
He rids his poems of all things poetic
Our society is much too confusing as is
Conflict and chaos, distressing, pathetic
Alfred says that his poems bring light to the darkness
Restoring needed order in a woebegotten time
His verses bubble over with certainty and structure
Not to mention fine meter and lines topped with rhyme
It’s hard to predict what the future will bring
Some scoff at the drabness of Alfred’s new goal
But order and clarity are very dope things
It doesn’t bother Alfred if he’s lacking in soul 
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