My colleague, the critic [sonnet]

Not willing to suffer fools gladly
he's keen to protect the tradition
at times our exchanges go badly
thank god that he's not my physician!
my heart he would willingly jettison
for a new (far-superior) model
my liver'd go the way of all venison
and when he'd encountered the muddle
I'm pleased to describe as my brain
I'm sure he would weep at the sight
one look would convey all the pain
of agronomists faced with a blight
    but our literary chat doesn't scar
    just as long as he's safely afar


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with hat-tips to the redoubtable Jon Aristides