I’m no frame-maker… that’s what they call them, right?
I rather write the stuff
The rest can take care of itself
My ‘client’ can frame the poem
Place it upon their shelf with pride
See
I spent the best part of today framing
So much hassle I can’t even begin to tell you
The poor woman in the internet shop
As soon as I paid and left
I could almost hear the “PHEW!”
These things need to be left to the experts
I feel
But the poem turned out good in the end
Even if I forgot to read it ’til I made it all the way home
Had a coffee, a cigarette
Sat with it, perfectly framed
Alone
‘Cos sometimes I forget to read my stuff
See
I still believe I’m faking it
Although I’ve been selling them a while now
I guess I could call myself a business man
Maybe
Something which puts a relative smile on my father’s face
And even if I don’t keep up with the pace
I must remember this
It’s all about that book deal
That’s the thing that will go about sealing my fate
I’ve enough poems for now to approach a publisher
In the traditional sense
Not those self-publishers
Looking to bleed you dry
Take whatever is left over at the end of the month
To pay the rent
I’m no manufacturer but I’ll frame all day
If I have to
Risk taking the blame
‘Cos I gotta get over the line
Just do it
Write, frame, write ’til I can look at a book of my stuff
& feel sublime
It’s hard to know if you’ve got what it takes
But I need to remember that I was sick for a long time
That I’m only just feeling the rhyme
Give myself a break
Take the good with the bad
Happy atop sad
Watch it all happen for me
Let the earth quake
In a literary sense anyhow

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