Today's results. So far.

 

so I took my "Poet for Hire" sign over to Fresh Market around 1:30 this afternoon. It was cloudy so I didn't have to worry about overheating, although I did put on the sun screen anyway.  I was just getting ready to leave when a mousy blonde, 30-ish, wearing white culottes and a pink blouse, with oversized sunglasses, came up to me.  She was filming me on her phone as she approached.

"I'll give you all the money I've got in my purse if you'll write a poem for me right now" she said.

"How much you got?" I asked her.

She gave a snarky smile and said she wouldn't tell me.  I shrugged my shoulders and said okay, I'd do it.

"I only do haiku" I told her. "Do you know what that is?"

"Sure" she said. "5-7-5."

"Okay" I replied. "What do you want it to be about?"

"About you."

"About me?"

"Yes."

I demurred.

"That's hardly a proper subject for a haiku" I told her. "How about something from nature?"

"I'm sorry we couldn't agree on the subject" she said, very sniffy.  I was curious to know how much was in her purse, so I relented and said I'd write a haiku about me.  It went like this --

I am not too fat.

You are not too cruel, yet.

Can we be buddies?

I signed it, then tore the page out of my notebook to hand to her.  She opened up her purse and, lo and behold, I received . . .

$14.00. 

I guess this whole rigmarole will be on social media somewhere.  I didn't bother to ask for her name or what platform the video would be on.  I was starting to get hot and wanted to go into Fresh Market to buy a few things with my new ill-gotten gains to make a cookie salad tomorrow.

Then I walked home and stopped in front of the building to sit with my sign for a few minutes to catch my breath.  It's been awful windy today and it was all I could do to hold onto my sign with both hands.

As I'm sitting there a van pulls up to me, with a Domino Pizza sign on top.  The driver gets out, introduces himself as Connor, and proceeds to tell me his life story -- how he writes fantasy novels and hopes to crack the bestseller list one day. In the meantime he supports himself delivering pizzas.  I gave him one of my cards and wished him good luck.  I nearly offered to write him a haiku in return for any extra pizzas he might be carrying, but thought better of it -- too crass, for a haiku master of my stature.

I've noticed that many of the people who stop to talk to me don't want to buy a poem from me, they just want to discuss their dreams of writing success with someone they think is empathetic to their aspirations. In reality, of course, I am thinking to myself: "If you don't want to give me money then hit the road!"  But I put on a pleasant, interested, hypocritical face and listen to their twaddle.  As Winston Churchill said:  "It costs nothing to be polite."

And that's all I've got to say for myself.