Poem: Who Will Save Me Now?

Reflecting on the poverty of a writer's life, a much heralded but little understood reality.

Who Will Save Me Now?

The money’s gone,
    so who will save me now?
    and why am I
    unable to save myself
It’s a matter of chagrin,
    this dependence,
    this needing
    somehow to pay the rent
    and meaningless as hell
    that other writers
    more skilled than I
    down through decades,
    begged their way
    ahead of me

I’ve got to get another plan,
    because the money’s gone
    and who will save me now?
Plans get in the way of words
    but the rent comes due
    and food and cigarettes
    are both habitual
Demeaned, I know I live too well
Should be washing dishes
    like Orwell
    and I’m not
Is it too big a price,
    the one they paid?
Poetry Collection: The Smell of Tweed and Tobacco
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman's
poetry collection


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