A third rate, even fourth rate skill,
the definition of “cheap thrill”.
Like watching farm equipment rust
is watching an impressionist.

A relic from a distant day
that long since should died away,
dishonorably mentioned is
the pitiful impressionist.

Weird, and somewhat ostentacious
tired debris from old Las Vegas,
whose former fans have all dismissed
allegiance to impressionists.

How many opportunities
passed up and wasted because he’s
Hell-bound to follow what he must?
Pity the poor impressionist.

Doomed to live an abject failure
dogged by his own echolalia.
Better to crumble into dust
than live as an impressionist.

His borrowed voices can’t deflect
a life of well-deserved neglect.
His name’s on simply no one’s lips;
forgotten, vain impressionist.

That sound–did anybody moan?
That creature at the microphone
is last on everybody’s list;
forgettable impressionist.

When Peter at that shiny gate
condemns those souls who imitate
he will but shake a heavenly fist
and curse condemned impressionists.