The Rolling Stone catches no moss,
But catches a lot of 'bleep' for
Having on its cover in gloss,
A face that most folks do deplore.
The accused Boston bomber lad,
Cute and sexy like a rock star.
How could that face do oh so bad?
Does the glam cover go too far?
Some do say yes, some do say no.
That's capitalism, it is.
Teamed blood and sex sells - doncha know!
Covers are in the profit biz.
The cover is the first we see,
And always should scream out, 'Buy me! '
Ima Ryma's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Over Cover by Ima Ryma )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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