at the poem on the internet, and it made us
feel good. For one thing, we were all in it
together, a community of chuckles
and mutual disbelief – how could a poem so bad
have been published? What kind of asshat
would write a poem like that? But also,
we were secretly pleased that we weren’t
the ones being ripped apart. We were grateful
that, even though it may be the case
that not many people read our work,
at least we weren’t being pilloried online.
I remember being at school, never bullied
but often ignored. I hung on the edges of circles,
grateful that the kid being taunted wasn’t me.
I enjoyed it. No one was looking my way –
I was safe. I was safe, and everyone laughed.
