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A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,

WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC




MIKE THE COFFEE JERK

Who are you to criticize?
I do the best I can.
My friends and fans are people of all ages.
You can holler fighting words;
It donít make you a man.
Society puts punks like you in cages.

I know you are a failure,
But donít take it out on me.
Go back behind the counter, coffeeís brewing.
I know the very reason
Why you rage so spitefully:
You wish that you could do what I am doing.

How dare you accuse me
Of attracting the wrong crowd?
You should be impressed that I can draw one.
People know me on the street
And call my name out loud.
You didnít know a gift horse when you saw one.

You treat all my teenaged fans
The way you treat your dog:
You make them stand outside in freezing weather.
When I see them disappear
Like shadows in the fog,
I know they wonít be coming back here ever.

You say all teenagers lie
And never tell the truth.
That is such a lie, and youíve told many.
I remember what itís like
To be a searching youth:
They need a place to hang and donít have any.

You donít like teenagers
If they have no cash to spend.
If I give them a concert, itís a free one.
I treat them all as young adults
And count them as my friends.
I love them all, because I used to be one.

Lake Placid, New York, 1996



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