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On Poetry

There’s a woman in town who has a powered wheelchair. She has a banner mounted on it reading VERBAL POET FOR HIRE. The idea is that you give her a couple of quid and she reads you a poem. I saw someone pay her for a poem once. She sat up straight in her chair, cleared her throat, and then yelled:

“Fuck you
Fuck you
Fuck you
You fucking wanker.”

And then powered off to the supermarket to buy a couple of cans of beer.

Published in brainjuice