This poem is not about Sonic the Hedgehog.
This poem is about everything except Sonic the Hedgehog.
Anything you can imagine, from capitalist tyrants to a communist prince.
From North Korean missiles to American nukes.
Everything you can dare imagine,
Up to the end of the world.
As long as the particular thing is not Sonic the Hedgehog, it has a place in this poem.
But may I ask this, only this.
Does the stark absence of a thing count,
In a roundabout way,
As a proxy of its presence.