to CB

And tonight, we will write
To save our asses,
Because we did not attend any classes;
And we would like the no-spacing view
It does hold well, wasting little truth.

Its junk, its junk – they’ll say
Bad rhyme, forced rhythm – they’ll brood.
You can’t write well,
So please don’t try.
Don’t philander with words
Don’t make us cry.

But onward we fight,
We write and write
Reams of paper
Attendant with wafers
Arguments on Shelley’s shady style
Support of Ms Woolf’s lovely gourmet guiles.

Oh help us – they scream
Oh defend us – they squeal.

Our professors in University,
They shy away from our political zeal.
We want to show we can do it
We can put words together
And strum away in ether
Sing and dance about Shakepeare
And his twentieth century sister.
Cry and deride a Plath for not
Weathering stormy seas.

No suicides for us - We exhalt.
We’ll come to the university a—Halt!
Who goes there?
Oh its just Jabberwocky,
Shakuntalam and Children’s Hockey.
But that’s not a name – they say.
Well, I’m writing a book;
And if you like, will save you a nook.

But this is not right – they scream and scream.
No style, no brains, no Salman or even Rushdie
This is defiling the literary industry!
We churn out words of wisdom
You pulp your way to conviction
Come leave the writing to us,
You there, there and there (points)
You all, pull out your chairs and review
Re-type, re-print and preview.
No more writing for you!