The Bad Poets' Society

I confess to writing poems.
Most of them are sad slices
of words, layered like sandwiches,
bread-meat-bread and other schemes.

Sometimes I am more ambitious,
and they become like Big Macs™:
bread-meat-bread-meat-bread, some lettuce
with pickles and special sauce.

This was not a poem. Then I thought
it would be fun to break it
into slices and pretend that
I was really a poet.

If this were a poem, my friend,
it would be really so bad.
But it is not, so not so sad;
better still, this is its end.