I Have Been Doing The Circuit For A While Now.
I Have Noticed The Ones, Who Are Published,
Even If They Had To Pay
All The Expenses Themselves,
Even If No One Has Ever Read
The Magazine They Got Published In,
Get The Respect.
The Ones Who Make People Laugh,
The Ones Who Speak Of Sex
In No Uncertain Terms,
The Ones Who Play A Musical Instrument While Reading,
Those Who Scream And Curse Like Madmen
Those Who Read In Three-Part Harmony,
And Can Work The Room
-ŗhey Anybody Here From Detroit? -
Those Are The Ones Who Get The Audience.
-ŗand Who Gets The Women? - You Might Ask.
-ŗnot I Henry- Not I.
And No One, I Mean No One
Will Tell You Your Work Is Crap
No Matter How Crappy It Is.
No Matter That Your Obtuse Metaphors Are
Nestled Inside Obscure Similes
And All Is Set To A Byzantine Rhyming Scheme
And No One Has A Clue What It All Means.
They-‘re Just Glad You Showed Up.
I Should Stop Going To Readings,
Save My Money,
Publish A Chapbook Or Two,
Learn To Tap Dance, Or Play The Banjo
If I Expect To Be Taken Seriously As A Poet