The Fan (tongue-in-cheek)

I’m a fan of my own poetry I think it is most fine I cogitate on every word I swallow every line Of all the words I’ve written I hold each poem dear No matter stones that you might throw Nor how rude your Brooklyn cheer I’d rather read my words of wit Upon a restroom wall Than Suffer Will and Chaucer’s Works; inside some fancy hall Folks today never talk like that That train left long ago So give me five my brother Make it high; or make it low Come share my homespun wisdom I don’t promise it will rhyme But you won’t need a college sheepskin To interpret every line I write words plain and simple So a child of nine or ten Can enjoy every story As he reads them in the den And I don’t need no critic To explain or to expand What the words meant when I wrote them Because they’re already plain If I never sell a single book Well that will be just fine For I’m a fan of my own poetry And will read you every line

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