My not my agent said, ‘do writes,
On descriptive character types’,
So I thank him for his advice,
And this is one I wrote for spite.
First time I met ‘not agent’ man,
Balding head; skin void of tan,
He claimed quickly he was a fan,
But now that’s all gone down the pan;
Said I was what he'd been missin’,
I took a look and said, ‘no kissin’’,
Guess I could not stop him wishin’,
But he'd not got a pot to piss in.
Said ‘we’ needed Writers Year book,
So shopped together to take a look,
Had only one, which he took,
Made me pay half, bleedin’ crook;
Even when I wasn’t eatin'
In coffee shop at weekly meetin’,
He made me feel that I’d be cheatin’,
If I didn’t buy his roll with meat in.
He didn’t even own a car,
So expected me to drive him far,
Well had said, ‘will make you a star’,
So least I could do was say, ‘ta’.
The moral? When down on your luck,
You need to dive, run or duck,
From leeches that only suck,
And rarely if ever, give a fuck.
Apologies for the misleading tags - just checking to see if my theory is correct ;)
| 
Email this Poetry
| 
Add to reading list
