THE SICK POET

“I’ve been sick recently,” said the poet. “So I haven’t been able to write any poems, and I’m looking for someone to cover for me.”
  “You’re looking for a supply poet?” said the other person.
  “Yes, that’s right,” said the poet.
  “What does the job involve?”
  “Well, you just have to write some poems and publish them on Twitter or somewhere.”
  “What kind of poems?”
  “They don’t have to be very long. Just short observational stuff really. Like, you might see a horse in a field and write about that. Something like, ‘Horse standing in a field/I wonder what you do all day/Or if there’s anything left to say’, something like that.”
  “OK, and post it to your Twitter account?” 
  “No, not mine, no. Your own, I think it should be. I’m not looking to take credit for someone’s else’s work.”
  “I don’t understand. What difference does it make to you if I post poems on my own Twitter account?”
  “I just think it’s important that poetry doesn’t suffer because I’m ill. It’s important. People need it.”
  “Right.”
  “So will you do it?”
  “Um, what’s the pay?”
  “There’s no pay.”
  “Oh, well, in that case, I’m afraid the answer’s no.”