The sun is nowhere
This summer’s delayed
My throat is like sandpaper
Earth is my head
I read Wendy Cope’s masterpiece and I blabber:
“Will I ever be published by faber and faber?”

The news just announced
Now, at BBC
That people live longer surrounded by sea
“Rubbish” I say and switch of the TV
“I’d live longer only if ff published me.”

So I close my eyes gently
And drift off to a dream:
There’re thousands of people
Is my name that they scream?
Am I finally up on the poetry ladder?
Ms CGP published by faber and faber?

I awake with a smile
(that lasts a second or so)
My poem’s unfinished
I can hear the wind blow
The aches and the pains
Say “hello” once again
I don’t even get why
I’m a Wendy Cope fan
In fact if she’d be here
I swear that I’d grab her:
“How the hell you got published
By faber and faber?”

I’ll try one more stanza
My pain’s getting worse
My fever is up
And i turn and i toss
I have finished my drugs
But food still tastes like rubber
*And I’ll never be published by
faber and faber


*Alternative ending:
And I’ve run out of rhymes
For that ‘faber and faber’