I’m not really going to comment on this poem written in heroic couplets other than this edition resurrects a New Yorker tradition that has been buried deep down in the Conde Nast’s crawl space for the past ten or so years. That, and this is the what many people think of when one says one writes in form (as they walk away, stifling the laugh that would blow egg nog from their nostrils).

An article in the NY Times has it covered.

Further Reading

A welcome tradition.

And the NJJN editor’s budding version that, so far, resists scansion.

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