THE BOULEVARD OF WEARY MONIKERS

I sat at the lunch counter with the Chairman of the Board and the Wizard of Menlo Park.
A stool creaked under the Sultan of Swat.
In a corner booth the Bard of Avon arm-wrestled the King of Rock and Roll
while the Godfather of Soul looked on.
Suddenly the Knight of the Sad Countenance rode in
to do battle with the Loud Lament of the Disconsolate Chimera.

This is a 3rd or 4th-degree cliché poem. It is based on a forty-year old model, Kenneth Koch's "You Were Wearing..." on the painting "The Boulevard of Broken Dreams," on a generative device or "poem idea," with a dash of Ashbery, etc... Maybe it's an amateur attempt at a James Tate or Dean Young poem? "I hope you would like it," as the spammers say when they send me some computer virus.