Praise

I need to feed off compliments;
there is no meat in writing well
despite a well-dressed plate; a
meal arranged for eyes to eat
resists my taste – unless titbits
eventuate. And these you can
provide; please think of them as
‘throw-aways’ disguised as ‘post
it’ notes – and on your part a
moment’s idle waste. Yet they’ll
connive to pander and placate an
egoist whose status is deflated limp
and flat – and levitate his spirit back.
If you’d rather be an indigent then
vent your ire in barbed and brutal
phrase. I’ll play them back as praise
indeed and find a meal in that.
© 8 March 2008, I. D. Carswell