The Literary Agent
By
Dame Cantaloupe Shagnasty

Consider one's position,

Sitting aloft a mountain of unsolicited submissions,

One has had to literally hire an army of ‘wannabees' to write one's empathetic apologies.

But mourn for me not, as a lady struggling to network for bloody England.

Amidst a whirlwind of drinks and liaisons, reviews and the emotional abrasions,

Inflicted by spiteful critics discussing the right and wrong,

Of why we sold out the Novel ‘Bite The Pillow Bitch' by Penelope Slapper,

For the musical of the same name, allowing it to be adapted for song.

One will get to yours in due course, but you'll have to be patient,

One is after all,

A literary agent.

No phone calls please,

No e-mails or letters,

Your work will be judged and returned, (eventually)

By your patronising ‘Betters'!

Don't send us a card,

And please don't make an appointment,

Don't just ‘pop-in',

As a short ‘Fuck off' can often provoke disappointment.

Consider one's commitments and marvel at it all,

Hair at ten, nails at twelve, air kissing from two til four,

Then a damn good hot session with Lars the Norwegian work experience lad,

On my private office floor.

It'll be three to four weeks, months, years,

Before ones diary clears, It's busy, busy, busy!

You will just have to be patient,

One is after all,

A literary agent.

Try to remember we feel for you,

No we really do! So much so it aches,

We wish you could all,

Hmm... eat cake.

But those we take under our wing,

Are truly blessed and I may say,

They're usually also related to us or a close family friend in some remote way.

One takes no pleasure from administering this dose of reality,

But one is running a business, not a charity.

And one know's what you're thinking!

People like me are the enemy, an obstacle, your nemesis,

If you like, an artistic assailant,  

Well what did you expect?

One is after all,

A literary agent.