(How I lost my job with American Greetings)
I’m giving myself only sixteen lines
the unlearned poet am I
I’m better with lyrics or valentines
designed to elicit a sigh
for I am suspicious of poetry,
I’ve contempt for self-conscious craft,
more than fortune or notoriety
I just hope my readers have laughed
I try to vary the topics I choose
like soupcans on a kitchen shelf
to my loyal readers this won’t be news:
all my poems lead back to myself
I've written this verse as neat as a pin
is it art? That point may be moot --
but still I know this is a discipline
and discipline ain’t my strong suit.
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