Why I Am Not a Painter Text of the Poem

I am not a painter, I am a poet. 
Why? I think I would rather be 
a painter, but I am not. Well,

for instance, Mike Goldberg 
is starting a painting. I drop in. 
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look 
up. "You have SARDINES in it." 
"Yes, it needed something there." 
"Oh." I go and the days go by 
and I drop in again. The painting 
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is 
finished. "Where's SARDINES?" 
All that's left is just 
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.

But me? One day I am thinking of 
a color: orange. I write a line...

(The entire page is 199 words.)