Even poets have a national day!
Nurses must be delighted;
why work such shifts for such shit pay
when you can 'feel it' and write it?

The copper who has breathalysed
the drunk sprawled on his bonnet
must relish that we're recognised
for writing paltry sonnets.

The brickies, chippies pay their tax,
most writers, too, are workers,
but why slap poets on their backs
and faces of the Gurkhas?

Let's be honest, raise a hand,
a hand that's written verse;
have we our heads buried in the sand
or simply up our arse?