the pros

constipated writers
squatting over their machines
on hot nights
while their wives talk over the
telephone
while the tv plays
they squat over their machines
they light cigarettes
and dream of understanding
and
beautiful young girls as lovers,
something to write
about.

“oh yeah, Barney, he’s at the typer.
he’s working on a series of novels for
Pinnacle.   his central character is some
guy he calls ‘Bugblast’…   I got a sun burn
today.   I was reading a magazine and I
forgot how long I was out there…”

hot summer nights.
the blades of the fan tap and rattle
against the wire cage.
the people expect miracles
constant miracles with
words.

constipated writers.
and readers who need plenty of
shit.
America is the place
to find it.