The Publisher Calls It Quits
Bruce Bennett
“... The truth of the matter, however, is that I’m tired of devoting my time, energy, and money to the work of others. I’m tired of everyone wanting to be published but very few wanting to pony up the price of three or four chapbooks a year....” —from a letter
A thankless task, this editing and printing
of wagonloads of books I cannot sell!
I’ll say it loud this time; I’m tired of hinting.
I’ve had it up to here, if you can’t tell.
I’m sick to death of setting type for scrawlers
who write and write. Does anybody read?
I’ve lost my taste for prima donna bawlers.
It’s therapy, not publishers, you need!
I’m done. I’m through. I’m taking down my shingle.
I’m outahere. Gone fishin’. Toodle-oo.
You’ve got a book? Well, you can suck my dingle.
You want some parting words? I’ve got a few.
In fact, I’ve got a shitload, in nice covers.
They’re cheap as hell and not a one in stores.
Come claim them for yourselves, your Mom, your lovers,
or down the toilet, Bub. And I mean yours.
Your faithful servant’s had it. No extension;
no new edition; just one dotted line
that finalizes infinite suspension
of all agreements. One name’s on it. Mine.
