“At least I have a day job!”
Was the last thing said between us,
Not answering back,
My face simply presented a cocktail smirking disbelief,
A shot of eyes lacking any pity,
Mixed in with a big, self satisfied smile.
Yeah I got nothing’ else to say,
So you turned your back and sat down,
I mean, I could go on,
But the day job thing though…
That shut me up,
That, and you were already so annoyed at me,
I don’t know why you assumed I don’t have a day job,
Or why you assumed, assuming I didn’t have one,
That I’d be somehow bummed,
That you did.
And I realise now…
From that ‘day job’ comment,
You assumed I was a professional poet
In turn, you assume that a professional poet,
Would take heckling and being ignored in their stride,
They would not be so petty as to get revenge on a heckler,
By waiting for their turn on stage to start screaming out:
“You’re shit! You’re shit!
Get off! Get off!
...(I am not a professional poet, as it turned out)
Had you actually bothered listening to me,
Realising the sorry caliber,
Of mediocre ego-centric shit I put out there,
Well… you may have anticipated this.
But that’s another assumption,
And maybe I really didn’t deserve a full 30 seconds of attention,
Before you and your lame friends started giving me a hard time,
Anymore than you deserved the full force of screaming abuse,
The very instant I realized you were getting up on stage.
But there we were,
With you stepping down,
Looking utterly indignant,
At having your two minutes on stage completely ruined,
Fair chances and thick skins,
But how else could you have known,
That, for any question of day jobs,
Or whether or not my work was worth listening to,
Man, did I sure turn out to be a way-way-better heckler,
So whatever that vaunted day job of yours is,
Stick to it.
Leave heckling... to the professionals.