Poet, Sir?
Poet, sir?- lie festering in the crowded alleys
- inherently disturbing but not gory
- a jar of warm sputum
- concentrating on my landlady’s cat
Poet, sir? You dare call me a poet? Do I have the look of one who would lie festering in the crowded alleys of Paris, drunk and penniless? The insinuation behind your “casual” inquiry is inherently disturbing but not gory, much like a jar of warm sputum. It tells me much about you, this assumption of yours in regards to my occupation. You presume I am concentrating on my landlady’s cat in preparation of writing an ode or a sonnet or — shudder – a limerick, when that is not the case at all. I am concentrating on my landlady’s cat so that I might learn to read his thoughts and gain valuable intelligence about my landlady’s comings and goings. Good day to you, sir. I say, good day!
bonus points for using them in order!