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! '
Comments about this poem (Over Cover by Ima Ryma )
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