The Poet and the Copy-Writer

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Osric, a poet

Oswald, an advertising man


Osric: My hair is falling out, and no one reads my poems.


Oswald: My liver is bad, and everyone reads my ads.


Osric: Alas, I am marginal to the economy.


Oswald: Alas, I am central to the economy.


Osric: Of course, you had to sell your soul.


Oswald: And you were unable to sell yours; perhaps I could

write you an ad?


- Nemerov



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