(with apologies to Philip Larkin)

Contemporary romance peaked

In nineteen-fifty-eight

(Which of course was rather late)

When mousy Midtown office girls

Sought out rich men to date.
Now, since then there’s only been

A sort of echoing

Of Heyer’s style of thing;

A virgin beauty’s quest to find

A duke for marrying.
For all at once, the smut appeared:

Everyone fucked the same

And every book became

A drenched and dizzy bacchanal

Quite free from tact or shame.
So books were never better than

In nineteen-fifty-eight;

And now is far too late

For those mousy Midtown office girls

And the wealthy men they date.
Yesterday, Olivia Waite published a response to the hackneyed Robert Gottlieb article in the New York Times. She also submitted this poem, which we couldn't resist. This one's for our romance readers.