Just tell them I am a frustrated poet,
that swears that he is an atheist,
and hates football.
But even this they did not get.

Just tell them, that
I promise never to listen to AC/DC again.
And I swear, I will never, never again read
that alcoholic sexist pig
Bukowski,
at least not for a while…

But even this statement of my ill-intentions
they did not get.

Just tell them,
that I will get back to teaching
cats and dogs, and promise to give more
time and marks for beauty.
After all, every day is judgment day.

And as they drift,
and fade away so slowly.
Some said
“you cannot be a poet”
Even though, I could show it.

Then I realized that I am at their mercy.
And a life on the road seems a good
way to sink into my dreams,
and write my open poetry.