With a nod to Jonah Winter

Now we’re all “friends,” there is no love but Like,



A semi-demi goddess, something like



A reality-TV star look-alike,



Named Simile or Me Two. So we like



In order to be liked. It isn’t like



There’s Love or Hate now. Even plain “dislike”







Is frowned on: there’s no button for it. Like



Is something you can quantify: each “like”



You gather’s almost something money-like,



Token of virtual support. “Please like



This page to stamp out hunger.” And you’d like



To end hunger and climate change alike,







But it’s unlikely Like does diddly. Like



Just twiddles its unopposing thumbs-ups, like-



Wise props up scarecrow silences. “I’m like,



So OVER him,” I overhear. “But, like,



He doesn’t get it. Like, you know? He’s like



It’s all OK. Like I don’t even LIKE







Him anymore. Whatever. I’m all like ... ”



Take “like” out of our chat, we’d all alike



Flounder, agape, gesticulating like



A foreign film sans subtitles, fall like



Dumb phones to mooted desuetude. Unlike



With other crutches, um, when we use “like,”







We’re not just buying time on credit: Like



Displaces other words; crowds, cuckoo-like,



Endangered hatchlings from the nest. (Click “like”



If you’re against extinction!) Like is like



Invasive zebra mussels, or it’s like



Those nutria-things, or kudzu, or belike







Redundant fast food franchises, each like



(More like) the next. Those poets who dislike



Inversions, archaisms, who just like



Plain English as she’s spoke — why isn’t “like”



Their (literally) every other word? I’d like



Us just to admit that’s what real speech is like.







But as you like, my friend. Yes, we’re alike,



How we pronounce, say, lichen, and dislike



Cancer and war. So like this page. Click Like.





