Perhaps I should explain. There's a long tradition among the Statehouse press corps that when they deem the session has gone on long enough, they begin donning ugly ties in an effort to so shock and horrify the legislators that they'll wrap up their business and go home. As I seldom wear ties, a few years ago I began an alternative approach: Writing ugly poetry.
It mostly takes the form of lame limericks, but I also stoop to other questionable quatrains, and in the most extreme of circumstances, sometimes even a haiku. I am pushed, as they say, from bad to verse. So please pardon my rhymes; they come with the times.