Curious Phrases

Several weeks ago, I was reading a friend's blog. He mentioned a review that he had read in which the reviewer talked about "old, failed poets." This critique seemed awfully mean-spirited. Can anyone really be a "failed" poet? If I recall right, the author was actually talking about economically successful poets who have failed spiritually or who had "sold out."
Nonsense. Hogwash.

Anyhow, I was inspired to write about old, failed poets, and the result shimmers below, revealing all of my cynical loveliness.

—The Bane of Poets
I once kicked an old, failed poet
He deserved it
Because he reached for the postcard
The postcard that read Howdy from Oklahoma!
It was my postcard, the bastard
I reached first
(actually, his was a reacharound and we know that reacharounds are
inappropriate)

So I kicked him in the ribs
And then in the ego
as he spilled to the floor
He’s probably at home now
Writing a poem or eating a sandwich

And now I’m thinking about Oklahoma
The land where you drink whiskey from a boot
And everyone’s fixin’ to do something
Something that involves dust and cowboy hats

But he learned his lesson, the bastard