Another Warning

When I am a writer I shall wear red
because I shall be
even though the critics shoot me down
I shall put my books to the front
of the displays in shops.
I shall murder grammar
use double negatives
and splash apostrophes in unsuitable places.
I shall pour adverbs over everything like gravy
and say that’s how I want it.
I shall make editors splutter
with rage at my purple prose
and proof-readers will clutter my pages
with green hieroglyphs.
I shall mix my genres
and my metaphors
to make up for the anxiety of my unpublished state.
I shall ignore the telephone
eat and drink at odd hours
never do the dusting
and blame the muse.
But now I must write prose
that someone will buy
to pay the rent
and avoid expletives when my hard won words
land rejected with a thump on my mat.
So I’ll rip out the weeds in my garden
and next door’s
until it’s too dark to see
then I can be so gentle and complaisant
and people will be terribly shocked
when suddenly I am a writer
and start to wear red.