Poem by Ron Whitehead:

Take off your pants and let the lice crawl out,
even if the fresh air kills you.
I know you’re from Kentucky
but for God’s sake, didn’t your parents teach you
that Cleanliness is next to Godliness?!
Have a little respect for yourself.
Aren’t you ashamed at all?!
You probably don’t even clean your ears.
Whenever you hear something you don’t like or don’t want to do,
you act as if you’re deaf!
You’re not some famous hermit.
You live penniless in that little shack where you write,
with two filthy dogs—
but clearly, you haven’t figured things out.
No, you laugh and act like you’re somebody.
You and your so-called ancient talents.
You couldn’t write a rhyming poem
even if you had a cauldron full of talent.
And yet you sit there, laughing with your dogs,
as if you’ve made history.
Do you even know what they do to poet laureates?
They drown them in the river!
It’s time you got a real job, became a proper man.
Update your CV!
You spend all day long hopelessly dreaming
of preserving your life by listening to the stork’s cry on the sandy hill
and writing a poem about it.
Don’t you know real men shoot storks for sport?!
It’s time to wise up and behave yourself.
Your whole life so far has gone to waste!
Don’t you care what people think of you?!
Don’t you realize you’re driving everyone around you crazy?!
What the hell is so funny?!
These days, all you do is write poems, laugh,
and play with your dogs. What the hell happened to you?!
Don’t get worked up, son.
Try to be reasonable.
Everyone’s laughing at you!
What the hell is wrong with you?!