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I Think He Does Suspect His Poems Are Mediocre
I think he does suspect his poems are mediocre,
as lifeless as a burnt out lump of coal;
as stiff and unyielding as any fireplace poker---
and quite indicative of his trite soul.
Of wretched rhyme he is quite the provoker.
His vapid grin always creates a frown.
He always seems to need to vent a grouse.
He is too unlettered to know that "town"
does not, in any known way, rhyme with "house."
Of his poems, I hope to be a forgetter;
and in regard to them I say, the sooner gone, the better.
He is for real like this, and not some Joker,
parading or performing in some comic stunt.
He is, most likely, far too ignorant
to have heard of, much less have read, The Waste Land or East Coker.
Starward
