A Mouth Full of Cents
by Rachel Hoyt
The writer's war is fought with words,
Fraught with nerds who gulp then purge,
The slime they urge us to swallow,
The hollow nourishment -
Not a cent, just oxygen,
A pretty den, a play place
For my face to be seen.
How keen. I might matter,
If I scatter myself freely,
Poignantly place words in the world,
Unfurl my soul where all can see.
No one is buying vowels
Or consonants these days.
I've seen embroidered towels
Receive more sincere praise.
Alms for the poor are spread thin,
Beginning to tread heavily,
Steadily on hearts who trust,
The lust for profits won't kill
The will of the true writer -
Fighter with words for nerds.
The herds are hungry, starving,
Carving their way through the crop,
Won't stop until the cream,
Their steam cloud growing,
Snowing cents and sense.
© 2013 Rachel Hoyt. All rights reserved.
This rhyme is in honor of those who already worked their way up,
yet still get asked to work for free like this young pup.