New Poem: "Untitled" April, 2015

I know you can really stink up a poem

by making it too long,

or dirty,

or you administer a little jesus,

too many metaphors

or descriptions of  your yard party

where millionaires

shoot songbirds in the garden.

You can stink up a poem good

if you talk about how

you wrote it,

where you were, how many drugs you had

in your system, 

or how dirty your fingernails

or your sheets were.

A poem has to jell.  It has to steep

before you let it out into the world.  

If it’s too cold

to go out by itself,

Let it stew

and simmer

before you take up the mic or send it off

to some rag

run by a clique

of English students

or a trio of retired teachers putting it together

on card tables in the den

or the room over the garage.

The last time I read this poem

I watched it slink off the podium,

skitter round the counter

and slip out the door to the parking lot

head down

and eyes on the ground.

I saw it perched on a low bush

as I walked home. Its eyes burning

with shame, looking away as I hurried by.
                               -tp

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