My Approach to Literary Networking
after Francois Villon
Most days I’d rather be bundled
into the courthouse between
two hairy policemen,
with a highly debatable anorak
dragged over my face, and
blamed for killing Kirov –
the crowd lobbing big thick
spits and battering the van
as I’m carted off –
or be stopped at the Canadian border
travelling on a makey up Polish passport,
the remnants of a Dutch industrialist
and what I think was his second wife settled
unhappily in my glove compartment;
or attend my mother-in-law’s funeral
having been fitted with a wooden nose
because (everybody knows)
the other one fell off due to
third stage syphilis;
than ghost about the joint provoking
nods from gabardine coats
of great import and longevity,
grunts of approval
from fully clothed minor male poets.
Feature Image: Joseph Stalin and Sergei Zhadanov at the funeral of Sergei Kirov in December, 1934 (unknown author).