Caitlin said in a TV interview

he sometimes spent hours

in the writing shed, only

to emerge with one line

after all that work.

 

The radio voice portentous,

everyone’s idea of a poet. 

Words that were musical, inspirational,

with no one quite sure

what exactly they meant.

 

A bard that pulled the birds

and drank like a fish. Why

did he get so pissed?

Was it to obliterate the guilt,

that all his stuff was just guff,

 

you know, dare I say it, rubbish?

I can’t believe that I’m writing this.