Just the one cow, that's it. (Cynic Magazine)
|Published in The Cynic Magazine on March 1, 2010 --> Posted poem
Just a Farmer
Back in my brash and callow youth,
I wrote a brilliant children’s tale.
Just ask the critics, it’s the truth,
Awards and kudos in the mail.
All copies vanished off the shelf.
The kiddies oohed and aahed and begged.
I must admit to pride myself,
I thought I had the process pegged.
I soon began to write again;
I’d take my sequel to the bank.
But though I sat there with my pen
And tried and tried, my mind was blank.
I thought at first I’d hit a wall,
Just needed time and solitude,
But months went by – no words at all;
My publisher became quite rude.
At last I forced myself to write -
A stream-of-consciousness attempt.
I flipped the switch, but got no light.
My agent gagged in loud contempt.
No matter how I tried, I failed,
I could not write another book.
But still my first was often hailed,
A “one-time wonder, come and look!”
Each wave of kids that comes along
Discovers that same early smash.
And though the sales are going strong,
I hate the check, but need the cash.
I still fill pages one by one.
I work and toil and get no sleep.
But when the chapters are all done,
It’s just a worthless steaming heap.
So with one book as my cash cow
A lonely farmer here I sit.
I try to write but just know how
To milk the cow and shovel sh**.