An Idle Question to Set a Certain Tone of Inquiry

Idle question: Ready?  Since Erasmus supposedly coined the term poetaster in 1521 or thereabouts, between tankards of goodly ale no doubt, we have migrated through poetry — as Victor Buono once quipped in the title of his book of doggerel, It Could Be Verse — only to arrive at a time when rhyme is no longer sublime. As a poetaster is an inferior poet and mere rhymer, without artistic depth — Rod McKuen, are you and your warm puppy listening? — I find myself wondering if modern writers of small collections of words that supposedly offer the NEW YORKER a chance to fill in otherwise blank white space in their layout did not develop their avoidance of rhyme solely to duck the appellation of poetaster, by allowing themselves the mental elbow room to say, in a nyah-nyah tone, “I’ll never be a poetaster because I avoid mere rhyme, so there.” This, too, shall pass, and any rhetorical flourish toward an insouciant yet amusing answer would be mildly appreciated in hasty passing.