Finally Rich

Poem By Sam Riviere

I got a job
I got a job writing poems
oh hi I never met you before
going to write you a poem
about your anniversary
your niece's christening
your son's wedding
your uncle's funeral
you provided a helpful ‘factsheet'
full of personal details
your favourite songs and anecdotes
this is my material
the tone is ‘light'
the approach is up to me
you will pay £3 a line
you will pay £5 a line
you will pay £7 a line if rhymed
but hang on
wouldn't a real poet want to get at ‘truth'
you paid for a real poet
how can I get ‘truth' from this ‘factsheet'
the only way to ‘truth'
is saying ‘yo, I don't know you'
and refusing to write the poem in the poem
then I doubt you'd pay me
here's my question
do you want to buy a poem
because you know about poetry
or because you don't know about poetry
think I need to see you
think I need to meet you
think I need to come and stay with you for like a week
perhaps the whole thing will get out of hand
if I get involved in some ‘heavy shit'
I'll write a screenplay about it
of course I'll change your name
the names of my dystopian employers
some bigshot director
will buy the script executive produce
and I'll be rich I won't write any more poems
about your uncle's wedding
your son's christening
your niece's funeral
your bill: £210
happy anniversary

Comments about Finally Rich

There is no comment submitted by members.

Rating Card

3,5 out of 5
1 total ratings

Other poems of RIVIERE

Dream Poem

I know what you're thinking
it's dull unless they're sex dreams
dreams about violent murders
mine are pretty banal

The Sweet New Style

she looks out of her
photos let's call her emma
with a mute appeal that might
mean something like 'whenever

Year of the Rabbit

there is no purer form of advertising
than writing a poem
that's what the monk told me
if I were a conceptual artist

The Council of Girls

Today I stand before you
uncertain of my guilt
of what I am accused
or should say sorry for

Personal Statement

hi i should like to have the answers
to shall we say certain questions
and to wake up certain of directions
and a levelness of breathing and

My Face Saw Her Magazine

across the moonscapes of skateparks you are 13 yrs old
& no longer allowed to play with boys / on platform 6
wearing your amazing cape you are not in fact you
but someone else / while I'm a guy who mishears lyrics