Coffee? The fuel that helps me start my poem.

Priceless or worthless? Work of art, my poem!

It's Modern English, Soft Cell, ABC—

Britpop tune for a lovelorn heart, my poem.

Cupid gets plastered in a downtown pub:

Punctured by his beer-flung dart, my poem!

I know! I'll vest my verse in brilliant armour:

That way, no critic can outsmart my poem!

It's rarely well-behaved, not often proper:

Loutish, unkempt—did you just fart, my poem?

Sometimes it flies into a mindless rage,

Curses, knocks over the apple-cart, my poem.

In San Francisco, near Embarcadero,

You'll find it most days. Riding the BART, my poem.

Dastardly devil, tomcat on the prowl!

Old ham over-acting the part, my poem.