from THE POETS HANG ON

The poets hang on.
It’s hard to get rid of them,
though lord knows it’s been tried.
We pass them on the road
standing there with their begging bowls,
an ancient custom.
Nothing in those now
but dried flies and bad pennies.
They stare straight ahead.
Are they dead, or what?
Yet they have the irritating look
of those who know more than we do.

Margaret Atwood
The Door (Virago 2007)

The Poetry Prom
Snape Maltings Concert Hall
Wednesday 27 August