I am a poet.

I love to say that
when smug oafs
ask what I do
and watch the look
of horror on their
faces, like they
just swallowed
the *** end of
a dead skunk,
maggots and all.

It's my job
to blurt out
the ugly truths
most folks won't
even think and try
to make them
beautiful,

to make flowers
blossom from the
***** of dead skunks.

Like a weather person,
I don't always succeed.

It's not a good job,
the pay is ******
and there are no benefits.

Sometimes, like April,
it can be a cruel job.

But it is a job
and it's my job.

Someone has to do it
so I keep on trying.

I am a poet.

   ~mce