Mick Heron refers to “…anything for a sausage roll poets.” A nod to (or at) the futile? Of course, he is right. But, I can make my own sausage rolls and do not need to compete with BAe or BP for a seriously-beyond-sausage-roll piece of the public purse to grift my my writing. So it is vanity, then? Not just. The first thing I need to do is, for once, be a good boss to myself. I have learned, about working for people, that good bosses don’t appeal to my (or their) vanity: positive or negative. There is a job. Do it or fuck off. They work as hard as they expect their staff to work and understand what you can be capable of, for good or ill. They don’t expect perfect. They expect a good professional account with reflection about how to do it “better” next time. So if my job is writing poems to be read AND heard, I need to get them audible and visible. There needs to be a trajectory… more… better… readers… listeners getting it: truth is allusive, seen squint and broken. And, the opposition is everywhere. Sometimes, they have sausage rolls.