Versifiers and Wine

At the poetry meeting it was decided that all poets were equal
and should wear red plastic noses, of the same size, no longer
should one poet be called great, while another was called minor.
I looked out of the window, the busy world outside was utterly
unaware of this momentous decision. Also poets would now be
able to recognize one another in streets, at the supermarkets and
in cafés, meet and talk about ungrateful Europeans, who don’t
care to know or read about our sagacity.

Coming home workmen had cemented over the garden and were
playing table tennis, I told them to leave but they refused and
began making holes in the cement and planting lemon trees
while accusing me for writing about nature but not understanding it;
“for you,” one of them said looking like a TLS editor, nature is
a nice view on a terrace while enjoying a brawn sandwich and
a cool glass of white wine.” Saddened I walked in to town went
into a bar frequented by unhappy, red nosed poets.