It’s me again, been keeping an eye out and finally, after many meetings the boss at ‘Unusual Poetry Publications’ figured it high time we gave you a shout, we just weren’t sure how pure your drive was, whether or not you actually gave a toss
Hang on, I give a toss alright, the fact of the matter is this, I want my books to make a mighty fine difference, and I wasn’t sure if the powers that be gave a shite
I want my poetry to be read by the right kind of reader, not people who glare at a makeshift cover before continuing on with their day, even their night, I should own that too
Well we’re on board, ready and willing to sit it out, work with you, however there are quite a few poems that make us wince, for instance the one about the prostitute asleep on the bus
That’s the problem right there, my poems don’t stand a prayers chance if you don’t give the more unusual ones the opportunity to dance, just trust me and I promise you this, the profits will have that boss of yours on his or her knees begging for more, and suddenly it’ll be a hundred and one of those dancing whores, what was the name of your publication again!
You talk the talk and for that alone we want you to pack a bag, catch the first flight to Prague, that’s where we finalise our deals, so I do hope it’s OK for us to steal you away, and Mr. O’ Driscoll, I do pray that these poems everyone speaks so fondly of can make money rain, all in all this book of ours… ahem, yours needs to make hay, so what do you think… what do you say?
Too much pressure, all about the profit, dulling my heady dreams of ever becoming a laureate, I’m sure I’ll speak to you again, as soon as you take that Goddamn silver spoon out of your ass
