Laureate

I have no use for
Titles, honors, and accolades,
Daft distractions, fobs that exalt
The meretricious over merit.
I do not want some artful council
To print my stichs on posterboards
And stick them in overhead spaces on buses,
The home of grubby PSAs.
My words will fail to inspire commuters;
A casual comment will rankle the riders:
They'll swallow my sniveling muskrats whole,
Feel the gnaw and gnash in their bread-and-beer bellies.
My scribbles will nibble and cause dyspepsia,
Leading to full-blown gut-riling ulcers,
All for the glorification of me.
My poems are at odds with popular taste.