He said comparisons to mother, inevitability,
They’ll say I’m worse than she is, for disclosing publicly,
And though true to say, I don’t essentially agree,
I’m angry with myself, I shared confidentially
With my ‘not my agent’, ‘cos now I’m not so sure
If a trustworthy sort, or the type I can ignore,
As he had my writing for a week or maybe more
And knows of ‘every’ detail which should stay behind closed door;
There are people, I really must protect,
And he warned me, the public are select,
As they’re subjective, in what is and not correct,
Oh for the benefit, of the circumspect!
And I must be certain, to protect identity,
Dot the I’s and cross my T’s, for sake of family,
Not reveal as much, for merely vanity;
Attempt to establish each priority.
So my ‘not’ my agent, I really must thank.
For being truthful, brutal and frank;
Apologise too, for not helping him to bank
An enormous cheque, but his attitude stank.
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