Sitting Behind the Empty Cheap Seats

Call yourself a poet?
Don't make me laugh.
where's the rhymes,
the rhythms, those other
things real poets
cram their poems
with? Eh?
You can't just put
any word down
after any other word,
that's not how
it works. Is it?
I mean,
I'm not a poet,
but even I know that.

Well, cat got your tongue?
Or your pen?

Here, here's a euro,
call the dole,
leave the poems
to the poets.
Maybe get a real job,
pay your bills,
stop sitting
in the dark
with two jumpers
and four pairs of socks.
Your suffering
is pointless
when you're not making art.