Ode to a Community Arts Worker

(after Horace Ode 1.13 Cum tu, Lydia)

Robbie, what’s she got that I don’t have,
this latest little protégée of yours?
The way you keep on bigging up her poetry
makes me sick.

And if I have to hear you one more time
say, bet we haven’t heard the last of her
I promise you I’ll scream because believe me,
I’m fed up to the back-teeth.

Quite literally my own words start to choke me
watching hers impress you.  It seems a flash
of pen or a well-thrown line and that’s you sunk.
She’ll eat you for breakfast.

Why do you never listen to me, you pillock.
The bitch is using you to suit her ends.
What makes you think she’ll want the likes of you
when once she’s made it?

Whereas you and me, Robbie, we’ve grown together.
We’ve scratched each other’s backs, you get my drift!
We should try to get to know each other better.
Nothing dodgy though!


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