Literary Critic

by Doug Draime

She said
my poems
were too blunt,
unpoetic,
pedestrian
thinking, and
downright
vengeful.
She handed
me a book
by
Robert Bly.
And
after she left
I discovered
she stole
my last joint
and my last $10.
But, hell, the fucking
cunt could’ve
been right about
my writing, though I had
to send the book
back to her,
( it was too deep for me )
wrapped in her
dirty red panties