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■ I know what you're thinking, father
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The sun is nowhere
This summer’s delayed My throat is like sandpaper Earth is my head I read Wendy Cope’s masterpiece and I blabber: “Will I ever be published by faber and faber?” The news just announced Now, at BBC That people live longer surrounded by sea “Rubbish” I say and switch of the TV “I’d live longer only if ff published me.” So I close my eyes gently And drift off to a dream: There’re thousands of people Is my name that they scream? Am I finally up on the poetry ladder? Ms CGP published by faber and faber? I awake with a smile (that lasts a second or so) My poem’s unfinished I can hear the wind blow The aches and the pains Say “hello” once again I don’t even get why I’m a Wendy Cope fan In fact if she’d be here I swear that I’d grab her: “How the hell you got published By faber and faber?” I’ll try one more stanza My pain’s getting worse My fever is up And i turn and i toss I have finished my drugs But food still tastes like rubber *And I’ll never be published by faber and faber *Alternative ending: And I’ve run out of rhymes For that ‘faber and faber’
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