Monday, April 29, 2019

la de, freakin’, da

I just heard the news

you got your M - F - A
well, la de, freakin’, da

your commitment to the craft has been cemented
by amassing unbearable, unending debt,
to be endured through a string of dead-end jobs
enabling you to write poems that confuse the masses
while sucking up to annoyingly presumptuous critics

you've got that stash of words
that few understand and fewer use 
to be meted out one or two per poem

faded, forgotten chapbooks
will litter your home, car, and backpack
as you anxiously anticipate the next time
you will see your name
in some obscure, yet thereby elitist, publication
to impress your parents and
be read by those few, now distant, friends 
you met while at school
to get your M - F - A