Poets and their editors down in the school yard
 
Miss! Miss!  Jack just puked
up his last three stanzas,
Simon's after standing  in it.
 
For God's sake
I'm a professional
do I have to deal with this?
Word vomit stinks like hell.
Get Beckett from
the janitor's room.
He can clean it up.
No ifs, ands or buts
(and tell him to bring the bleach).
 
Now. What was I saying?
Oh yes. Sally.
In my opinion
her assonance is more like
cognitive dissonance.
Give her an enema
for her vowel problem,
and tell her to stick to a diet
of consonants
and glottal stops.
 
Got to run.
Meeting Larkin.
Parents complaining
their darling little darlings
won't take out
any fucking words.
 
Gardening leave.
Don't give me that look -
can't he write nature poems?

© copyright Alison Hackett   (first posted online 1 September 2016)