Barth – a poem

Blue books fill my shelf, inviting to be devoured
But my lazy arse sometimes needs to be first overpowered

He did write an awful lot,
But at least it wasn’t a lot that was awful Schrott

Though my butt is not lazy all the time, mind you
As often I love to read the CD, especially while on the loo

Luther too did his best thinking on the pot,
As, according to the Apocryphal Liturgy of Moses, so did Lot.

Hang on, Chris, toilet humour is not appropriate for a man of such greatness
And I gotta tell you, not much rhymes with ‘greatness’ (nor ‘bollocks’ come to that).
Oh, actually ‘lateness’ does. Shit.

Don’t get me wrong, not all poetry needs to rhyme
Especially because drafting it takes up a bit more time

But this is all the more the case with Barth,
As his name sounds like the sound my bottom makes when I
Go to bed.

Oh yes, don’t make me a limp wristed poem writer, Oh Lord
That takes himself too seriously and gets everyone deathly bored.

Make me a Barth without the unfortunate rhyme,
Yea, Lord, make me a more of a Barthian,
For that’s not so easy to rhyme with a gastronomical functian.