Not to mention the Dutch prestidigitateur Gerrit Komrij

BUGABOO

Strip me of poetry and

I’m a mailman nothing more

A counter that’s lost the score

A man with no magic wand

Divest me of my masks and

I’m a starch-necked minister

A hair-splitting word-twister

With marble grave close at hand

A bungler who’s trundling along

The sunset his ultimate stop

All love of mankind’s judged as wrong

And bunglers are all for the chop 

(To see the collection this has been taken from, go to here)