Some bookstores have sections with magical authors,
They craft spells and suspense and mix in some monsters,
At most bookstores,
One section makes me feel miniature,
It’s the one with Patterson books penned by all of his partners.
I came upon this section with towering bookshelves,
It seemed so mystical as though inhabited by elves,
Or at least so I thought,
Wow, this author writes a lot,
It was just the Patterson books written by all of his pals.
Seeing this huge section makes me long for the days when,
He delivered thrills again and again,
What to do once a spider comes along,
Kiss the Girls to finish strong,
Too bad he doesn’t write the books like he did back then.
Or maybe this author is a literary genius,
And knows writing his own words is pointless and needless,
Why pick up a pen,
Let someone else write it again,
Writing down words is such a big inconvenience.
A light limerick roast is what every bestselling author needs,
To remind of days they worked harder for their reads,
I hope someday,
Someone will say,
Bill DuBay is a hack but I wish I made half his proceeds.
This poem was expanded on from an earlier piece I published under my former pseudonym Dirty Harry Wizard in August 2019 in Stinky Inklings.