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This poem is about you;
yes, YOU sitting around this table
with the other poets
at this workshop today —
you, pretending to read this poem
while he’s droning on
reading it out loud.
Don’t worry
he’s not about to single you out
mention you by name
embarrass you;
you can remain anonymous
shuffle your feet
adjust your clothing if you wish
pick your nose;
nobody will notice.
What do you think of this poem so far?
It’s a novel idea isn’t it?
Go on, have a good laugh
if you feel like it
he won’t mind he’s too engrossed
too busy reading his poem.
You know how he is
with his own poems —
thinks of them
overwhelmingly perfect
for at least the first hour.
What a laugh!
But no, let’s be honest;
he’s a terrible bore isn’t he.
It’s an awful poem?
...runs on...not a decent line
all its iambs tied in a knot
not even a good strophe
and where have all his trochees gone?
Thank the lord it’s free verse;
you wouldn’t want to pay for it.
Gawd, listen to him
droning on and on and on
boring, boring...
But please, rack your brains,
lie, if you like
but try desperately
after he’s finished reading
to think of something complimentary
to say
even if it makes you sick.
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