song of submission guidelines

you know it wallops me right in the nose
when i read the words
"we only accept high-quality poetry and prose"
so what am i chopped liver i suppose
or other organ meat so tough
i fear i'll never be good enough

every day i search like that lantern-toting guy
for someone to see me and their face to light up and say "hi!"
as though they actually wanted me around

every day I seek and shuffle
through guidelines trying my tears to muffle
hoping in some earthly home my songs to ground

for mediocrity someone out there must yearn
after all the best poetry is hard to learn
and somewhere out there's a crying need
for not-quite-as-good poems I could feed

yet all day long the sad refrain lingers:
"we only accept the finest work of human fingers"




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