AUTHOR’S NOTE: This poem originally appeared in December 2024 in the online humor literary magazine Witcraft. Unfortunately, Witcraft ceased publication in 2025 (see this post for more information).
If I should die before I publish,
I pray the Lord to take my rubbish,
and raise those dull words from the dead,
that I may be posthumously read.
I pray the Lord will let some lover
of my true genius soon discover
the stacks of pads on which I’ve scribbled
those words these editors think are drivel
and hie thee up to Farrar, Straus
or Giroux, Little, Brown, or Random House,
and hurl these words over the transom
to inspired editors, who’ll ransom
every penny they can hook
to see my words become a book.
They’ll sit in awe of every phrase,
and make sense of my verbose maze.
They’ll see beyond my lack of plot,
and marvel at my characters’ lot.
They’ll look beyond the faults to see
true genius: creativity.
May my words go forth throughout the land,
and bring my widow hundreds grand.
May I whose stories were oft rejected
then be acclaimed and well respected.
And may the editors who spurned my toil
fall in a vat of boiling oil.
Or may they weep and gnash their teeth
when they find what they thought beneath
publication in their reviews
are now the stuff of talk‑show news.
May the literati, too, cut gashes
on arms, and don sackcloth and ashes,
and repent of how I’ve suffered plight,
and mourn the loss of such a light.
But if while alive I can complete my mission,
may I write like Fitzgerald and get rich like Grisham.
Andy writes! 