Babbs couldn’t pass a petty gripe,
nor could she skip an indulgent swipe.
Babbs adorned her barbs of disagreeable harm
with a plethora of savory fallacies
powdered with an indefatigable charm.
A posted painter’s prize?
“I’ve seen better”
An inspirational speech gone viral?
“Wake me up, I fell asleep”
A happy birthday note.
“Forgot to send a letter”
A streaming march of freedom fighters.
“Y’all look like a bunch of sheep”
She proudly wore her cacophonous crown,
coiled on her chair
in her leisurely gown.
An influencer of biting bits and nasty tricks.
Followed by an army of trolls and ghouls,
tools awaiting their Queen’s orders like useful fools.
She never found an opinion that she couldn’t snipe down,
or an expert’s pontification that she couldn’t ground.
She was hard to ignore, her bait too tempting not to nibble.
Nothing was off limits for her itchy feathers to tickle.
Babbs knew how to concoct an argumentative rot on any page,
a knitting pinterest,
a fishing forum,
a wedding wish list,
an innocent Substack platform.
She’d cackle and snicker when her target
chased after her whispers.
And by the time they thought they had her pinned,
her grin would grow wider as her army fell in.
Even the brave’s nerves would eventually cave
because no one could resist her needling game.
Nothing was sacred, nothing was safe…
When Babbs The Baiter logged in that day.
If you enjoyed this poem, you might also enjoy my previous mischievous and petty tale…
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