Sean Gabb
Many years ago, when I was a young man, I was asked by one of the sneering thugs set over me in the office where I worked what was the use of poetry. I thought the answer I gave was no more than good-natured badinage. Sadly everyone else thought otherwise. I didn’t work there much longer.
Young professional, straining
Through bulging haemorrhoid
The solids of your business lunch
Painfully to void;
Discontented, how to get
Back to your car unsure,
Staring at a dirty invite
Scribbled on the door;
Time to ask and time to say,
Now you sit alone,
Whether so many thousand pounds
Are worth so many stone.
