A NATIONAL POETRY MONTH POEM — ONE POEM FOR EVERY DAY IN APRIL! — POEM #12
There Ain’t No Money In Poetry!
A Poem about financial reality.
There’s a desk and there’s paper, as far as the eye can see
heaped like a haystack beneath a distant tree
in an anti-alphabetical catastrophe
an indecipherable attempt at chronic productivity.
Not to mention that intense focused stare
akin to a bloodshot, dizzying glare
wearing nothing but a tattered festering pair
of suspiciously stained underwear.
He’s a poet, do you understand?
a being of measured rhyme and nuance
ink stains that Rohrshach upon his hands
seated at his desk in a thoughtful poetic stance.
“Oh shit,” he moaned
“Does nuance rhyme with understand?
And does anyone possibly understand
These beautiful lines I’m writing free-hand
“Harry!” his wife Arletta lovingly howled out
What the goddamn hell are you fiddling about?”
Get a job, you slob, and why can’t you see
There ain’t no money in poetry!
Oh shit, Harry thought
She even scans better than me.
