Lad, poets write of love and loss In sober verse as makes no sense; It’s sugar-coated candyfloss! Truth is, they’ve no experience! That ‘starving artist’ line’s a fake; They’re, most of ’em, just bags of wind. Their blank verse gives me belly-ache, And half of them have never sinned! Son, I’ve earned more inside a year Than fifty poets. God be blessed, I hosed the lot on girls and beer And squandered nearly all the rest. And now it’s gone, who’s left to care? Drink up! Before the Reaper calls. Ignore the green-eyed monster’s stare — There’s damn few inns in Hades’ halls!
Poem Published in the following books: A Glass Half Full