i spoke with
the regularly scheduled
poet

the one that
shuffles in
around this time
bags under his eyes
looking angry
in need of coffee

he snarled at me
nearly bit my hand

told me
he is finished

i tried to convince him
he had
a contract
in which he laughed
a gentleman’s agreement
he looked around
quite sarcastically
for the gentlemen
in question

frankly

we are better off
without
him

sitting
in his underwear
writing trash
all day

he wasn’t much of a poet
at that

but

he was all we had
working for peanuts

he’ll be back
where else can he go
it isn’t like
there are offers
for a poet to sit
compose odes
for the wealthy
lonely
heiress
in a chateau
by the sea
these days

until then

feel free to peruse
the wares of yesterday
yesterday’s yesterday
and so on
and so forth

while i
try to convince
the primadonna
to return
to the stage