No egos here, save mine's cemented in
foundations deep you lucky beggars walk;
nor ask how many bodies buried grin,
how many oyster-shells such lime dissolves.
No egos here, but all these rules laid down;
we'll edit you as soon as look at you;
reserve the right to snap and grunt and puff
much like a walrus I will strut my boo.
For I don't give a shit - but care a lot.
You cannot get the right staff nowadays.
Though lights are going out, I'll punch your slot -
extra goes for each prize won - generous.
You just can't get them hooked on persiflage;
and as for writing several poems a day,
they tell me they have other things to do -
and on that score I'm just forced to give way.
So see me punish them with these cheap tricks
I have for prompts, with distaff-side assist,
so fit to make folks jump through hoops up sticks.
Humiliation's gluttons will persist.
YOU ARE READING
Potatoes
PoetryHot, Sweet, Saucy, Spicy - always filling/fattening. Donder - vb. To blunder about aimlessly, not knowing what the feck one is at.
