Time came I’d writ about a dozen poems,
Some comical, some dire tomes,
And I thought they’d want to publish me,
If even only just for free
So I showed my poems to
A writing group friend,
Named Owen, who said,
“I could help submit them for you,
I know some people,
I’ve been at it longer than you,
I know a few things about this”
I’d thought he’d give a friend’s review,
I hadn’t thought this’d be what he’d do,
I thought about it for a sec,
Then hedged and took my poems back
“Well, there certainly are better agents out there
Than me, but will they take you?
That’s the thing, poets, agents, publishers,
They’re known conveniently not to have
A lot of extra time, when asked”
So I sent my poems to magazines,
Waited some weeks, what will be seen?
I collected rejection letters,
Compared to my work, each written better,
Nice, but no
So I took my poems back to Owen,
“Naw, I don’t have time for this”
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