genius by the shore

fellow I know keeps writing about the women
who come to his door or who don’t or
about the number of poems he has
written lately.
he’s pretty good but not that good.
he is the son of fairly wealthy parents
and has never had an 8 hour job.
has lived in his little beach front house
for decades, safely getting
older.
he is as honest as he can be
within his circumstance
but all and all
he’s really a ninny,
not his fault
but he’s a ninny,
a ninny,
ninny,
spoiled, utterly and with a
terrible temper
which will be truly tested
when he reads this poem
about himself.

I hardly know why I write
it.
perhaps to just get it out of
my craw.

poets are such bitches,
you know
and I’m not an
exception.
hardly.