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.