A square deal I’m looking for
but you’re giving me all the shit
thunder and lightning you frighten me with, you force
it all down my throat, you get in the way
of my sunlight but instead of giving me shade
you go for giving me pimples
and force me to write in the first person
on things I have no damn idea about
A square deal I’m looking for; but where I ask for poems
you give me this and elevator music, you are
no better than Calculus or the first girl, I want rain
and you give me back my own house
with a water cut
but I want to write something that’s not nonsense, something
about the sunset, about the girls—I would even settle for political
nonsense
I want to be Oscar Wilde, only not as pathetic
but pathetic is all I get, thank you
for your apparent nonexistence, but I won’t be fooled, you,
I will find you, and when I do, you will see
who’s the boss, and I promise you, when I find you,
I will force every single one of these twenty five lines
and my other convolutions deep down your disloyal throat
and see who is inspiring who then.
