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Slim Volume

His frame was gaunt, his income was erratic:
The street ignored the writer high above
Who wrote and brooded in his lonely attic,
Starving for beauty, poetry and love.

But now, although his Muse is rather quiet,
The royalties and praises never cease.
He's found his niche, but needs to watch his diet -
The doctor says he's clinically obese.

The Latest Philip Roth

The hero is an ageing New York novelist.
Some say he’s just a misfit or misogynist.
His penis is a psycho-sexual  obelisk. 

It’s all his ex-wife’s fault, he can’t forgive her.
His thoughts about his mum would make you shiver.
If you dine at his house, don’t eat the liver.

David Whippman


If you have any comments on
these poems, David Whippman would be pleased to hear from you.

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