You Are a Poet?
goes on to explain how his
grandmother was a poet, he'd
heard a lot of stories and never
figured they meant anything,
"... but I really liked your
poems --" and right then they
always looked away like a glance
that didn't happen and kinda
look around off in the distance
and you want to say, "Hell,
we're all poets, man, and
besides, it's better than working
for a living ..." and you don't
because it's too true
and funny and absurd and that's
when they get nervous and stop
listening and go on talking
practically forever and "Hey
man, I really dug your stuff ..."
until you're convinced you'll
never do another poem and you
should have said, "Well, it
sure scares the shit out of
me ..."-- but they don't believe
that either in a world where
poets are weird little oddities
like Sunday afternoon chamber
music and music has been dead
for centuries. Tell them how
you constantly have to tear
yourself away from your work
just to eat in America and how
much of the work never gets done.
How much you love the pulse and
melody of music and dance and
how poetry and song always seem
to get right in there and you
never need to know where it's
at to be alive and happy.
Tell them you'd rather be writing.
Copyright 1995 Kaleidoscope. Write Place. Volume 6.