What hideous yell assails my ear?
Whose shuffling feet distract my nerves?
Insatiate demon, nothing serves
To clinch thy clutch! All day I hear,
“More copy!”
My brain’s a-whirl, my senses swim--
What cares the screeching imp for that?
He’s got two words, so tonguey pat,
He slits the air with vocal vim,
“More copy!”
A sapient smirk illumes his phiz--
He feels his power, and grinning grips,
The ink-wet pages, scissored slips,
And cabled specials; that’s his “biz”--
“More copy!”
Intense disgust has hobbled hate,
Else would I slay this vampire scorned.
Though neither cloven-toed nor horned,
His devilish yawpings ne’er abate--
“More copy!”