The Failure

It is about vanity, a need to see one's name in print
The shortest of glory, five seconds, ten?
Switch off at that point of glory, and the fame can last
until someone else demands to use the tablet 
A book of poetry, published in a small town in India 
61 pages, and the editor and owner of the press 
tells us the poems are great, not panegyrical, but ok
Sitting down to read one's thoughts only to discover 
misspelling and less elegant sentences, what 
The eyes had not seen before glared up with a smirk
Oh, the shame of this must keep it a secret, not tell
Should anyone ask,  say the book was not published 
this year and turn the talk to something  else, like
the high electricity prices