Poetry is for suckers

Poetry is for suckers
Why else would it be so heady
Rich and obscure
Filled with such meaning and hidden speculation

Poetry is for suckers
It cuts away the juicy details
Leaving nothing but core
Otherwise
It adds so much fluff and fat
That you can't even cook it down
Into something edible

Poetry is for suckers
With its bearded players
Pipes and fireplaces
Lesbians and isolationists
It's a bad stereotype
Made worse

Poetry is for suckers
With its patterns and rhythms
Creating cadence
For who in the hell knows what reason
Except to waste time
When one could be working

Poetry is for suckers
I've never met a poet I couldn't hate
Or beat with a stick
If I had to
Worse than that
Would be that they'd write about it
If they lived to tell

Poetry is for suckers
With no audience
And no real rules
It's a buffoon's game
A tragic sport
Of man versus man
Man versus God
God versus man
And anyone who tells you differently
Must be selling you a literary degree
Which everyone knows is a bad joke
On people who actually work for a living
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2.6.08