stealing from Bukowski
it astonishes me
the young poets who come to my door
they are hip and tragic
and generally poorly read
they come to my door
looking for something i don't have
if i had answers i'd have used them
life is good
the Gypsy Kings or Pat Metheny
or Jane Siberry or the Bird
play on the box
we eat well, drink well
bed well
the poetry is the same
one damned line
much like the rest
my small victories heralded by no trumpet
no angels sing
i publish in small magazines in small editions
and short press runs
mostly the critics ignore me
the others range from polite indifference
to ranting diatribe about my plebeian nature
the lack of music and grace
the young poets
they come to my door
so i pour them a glass
put Nyro or the Trane on low
listen to what they have to say
read their poems and then tell them
it will not feed the cat
there is no gravy
no garlands or bright lights
if you have to write you will
read everything
makes good choices
about what to read twice
i tell them that writing isn't as important
as being a good person
they give me that look
like i'm holding something back
then like my critics
they leave unsatisfied
as well
Copyright© michael dennis
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