J. Weintraub: The Academic Publisher Addresses The Books In His Sales Catalogue

The fat lady’s up, she’s about to sing;
this is the final call,
the hurry-up-please-it’s-time time;
at the door, the wolf is about to ring,
we’re up against the wall,
down to our last strike, our last dime
on the lucky number, the two-minute drill;
the night flight is boarding, our last chance to fill
our coffers with coin, our everything-must-go,
deep-discounted, inventory-clearance, no-
returns-allowed, bum’s rush for all we hold
sent out just before or beyond its time;
the out-of-touch, ignored, and seldom-sold
the under-theorized and those who fall
behind the curve of academic creeds;
the over-jargoned and some with no review,
those printed in runs far beyond all needs,
their authors unknown, and those past their prime,
the famous, also, the celebrated few
whose mistakes we’ve published to our regret and shame;
one final chance to justify yourselves
to commerce; no matter the value or the name –
be it Smith or Jones, Hegel or Wittgenstein –
you will be taken from our warehouse shelves,
stripped and shredded, then pulped to a murky brine
and condemned to a digitized, electronic hell
should you disappoint us again, should you fail to sell.