On My Third Writing Anniversary: A Poem
By now I must be known as a smart-ass
seventh decade dude not acting his age
a writer not claiming to have literary class
just going through a self-expressive stage.
With the third year just about completed
of a strange hobby I never thought I'd do
thank you all for the way I've been treated
not telling me I "bit more than I could chew".
English is my second language as you know
my accent must have told on me in my style
if I didn't bother to keep my profile duly low
I'm grateful for not sent to a writer's exile.
Gee, I got me some impressive praises
that even my best friends didn't ask to see
jealous, or thinking those were polite phrases
well, on my deserted show I'm the happy emcee.
After four hundred-plus of this written stuff
I am not tired, no, no, I am just getting hot
O.K., an aging fart can use this as a bluff
although far from done, believe it or not.
So, if at the end I somehow forgot to clap
it's not because I think of this poem as bad
I just don't want you to wake up from your nap
but if you caught a verse or two, I am surely glad.