Shush, wordslinger, pen for hire,
shush, get back to work, now.
It matters not,
and no one cares,
that after a year or so of utter drought
A flood of poetry comes pouring down.
Lest you forget,
you’re bought and paid for
– look, it says so right there,
on page two, clause 3.4.
There’s a book you must write, wordslinger;
there’s goals to meet,
there’s bills to pay,
and there’s a deadline.
Never mind that it’s Sunday;
that it’s nice and warm out there on the street.
Lay aside meter and rhyme,
and for fuck’s sake, put down that beer.
There’s this boring book you said you’d write.
So quit your whining, get a grip,
and stop wasting the client’s time.
You’re bought and paid for, and that’s a fact;
7,000 words of tripe
– and you’re not even half done yet.