you’re a bum, she told me. like it was some
grand revelation. you don’t work; you sit
around all day doing nothing — hold on,
I tell her, I read a lot, study and write
poetry every chance I get . . . her face
puckers in a most amazing expression
of distaste and she continues with her
assassination of my character:
productive; what use is all your writing
if you never put it out there? I don’t
see you getting published . . . maybe you’re just
not that good, as good as you think you are . . .
well, you might know if you read my work, but
all the same, I’m being true to myself.
David M Pitchford
4 Nov 2011