Roses are red, violets are blue, tunnels are empty—help us, gay Jew!

Ooooh—the transit strike is inspiring poetry! NY1.com has a few examples of this evil breeding more evil:

Danyelle the poet writes:
It's really messed up
They have to take it this far
To make New Yorker's walk, ride a bike
Or get in a stranger's car

I'm not upset with the TWU
I know they have to do what they have to do

We like the suddenly shifting perspective of that piece. In the next offering, David inserts an "OK" for an easy rhyme for "today." When we read his poem out loud, we like to say it like "OKAAAAAAAY?" Go ahead and try it!

David in Manhattan writes:
So, there's a strike,
And I don't have a bike,
I live in Midtown,
And though trying not to frown,
I must get to UPS today,
To mail Christmas gifts to Tulsa,
Oh, dear, what shall I do?
Are you stuck too?
I'll be on the corner, packages in hand.
If you pick me up, that'd be grand!

You know what else would be grand? Prose!

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