My—you folks are brutally efficient
even though in tact you’re quite deficient.
I know your slush pile must be sky-high
But is this any code for a rag to live by?

My grandmother would say your behavior is tacky.
Financially, I guess it’s not so wacky
With each manuscript that you get in the mail
To send out a plea for funds without fail.

Well, what’s a poet supposed to think?
Now that you’ve asked him to stanch your red ink.
If I refuse, will I see publication?
See how you’ve compromised my situation?

My professional instincts say just write the check–
A pittance would please you, so hey--what the heck?
But—I don’t know—it’s the principle of the thing.
It sounds like payola without the swing.

You’ve asked the wrong guy, I’m inclined to balk.
I pick up deposit cans when I take a walk.
It's not that I'm angry, I won't blow a gasket,
but I’m shopping for deals on slightly-used caskets.

I dangle your pitch between two cold fingers–
Such a weighty decision causes me to linger.
It’s a really good question–I’m glad that you asked it,
I say as it drops in my wastepaper basket.