Poem for Thursday

What the Chairman Told Tom
By Basil Bunting

Poetry? It's a hobby.
I run model trains.
Mr. Shaw there breeds pigeons.

It's not work. You dont sweat.
Nobody pays for it.
You could advertise soap.

Art, that's opera; or repertory--
The Desert Song.
Nancy was in the chorus.

But to ask for twelve pounds a week--
married, aren't you?--
you've got a nerve.

How could I look a bus conductor
in the face
if I paid you twelve pounds?

Who says it's poetry, anyhow?
My ten year old
can do it and rhyme.

I get three thousand and expenses,
a car, vouchers,
but I'm an accountant.

They do what I tell them,
my company.
What do you do?

Nasty little words, nasty long words,
it's unhealthy.
I want to wash when I meet a poet.

They're Reds, addicts,
all delinquents.
What you write is rot.

Mr. Hines says so, and he's a schoolteacher,
he ought to know.
Go and find work.

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Enterprise review: "Harbinger". And hey, I talked about the slash subtext yet have not received one piece of hate mail yet! What a disappointment. Maybe nobody is watching the show even with T'Pol's naked butt in the teasers.

So yesterday came over, and we watched Proof. All further M&C fanfic may have to be put on hold until I do something about the Martin/Andy story that is insisting on writing itself in my head. Now, I know that someone on my flist had a link to some Proof fic not that long ago, and I can't for the life of me find the link even though I know I saved it -- , , was it either of you? Can you help me? *puppy dog eyes*

Today I am rushing out to meet , and a Hobbit writer I admire very much. Then I must post Trek news. And then I must do stuff for my kids' school Valentine's Day parties tomorrow. Oh, and I have to get my husband a present! Eeek!