Poem 27

In life there will be opponents.
Ready to speak with grandeur, and perfectly punctuated
hmmms and wells.
The critic will sit, knee bent,
fingers slightly open over parted lips, suggesting habits relinquished.
They will speak from their towers condescending at every possible opportunity.
Three short years gives them unlimited licence.
These are the times we must smile and chuckle inwardly
while appearing shocked at their brilliance; and even more shocked
when, amid the most superfluous language, they fall from their
self-mounted pedestal to join the rest of us in searching
for the light at the back of a darkened cave.