How the hell am I
Supposed to write a poem
That will work
For everyone
Most of you don’t even like poems
And I don’t blame you either
They’re not music…
They’re not film…
They’re none of the above
But I’ll keep on keeping on
‘Til such time as
I crack the thing
Wide open
A poem that makes
The most poetry-hating person
Keep it nearby all of the time
Something for them to look at
Laugh at
But then
Does it need to be funny
Or is serious enough for now
Who knows
This isn’t the mother of all poems
Of course
Just a prelude
Now there’s pressure for ya
Plenty of pressure
But I know what to do
At least I think I do…
Gonna go for a coffee right now
Left my blasted cigarettes at home…
Buy another pack, no way
It seems off the cigarettes
I’ll have to stay
There’s that lady called ‘rhyme’
Getting in on the action once more
Christ all mighty
I’m obsessed with the whore