What to do with those who can’t read a poem?
Write a poem? (Well, we’ll save that joke for later —)
Do we offer them bread? A threnody of platitudes?
Watching people talk about Elizabeth Bishop,
I can’t help but think of Christopher Guest movies —
‘In the Waiting Room’ shouldn’t be this hard, nor
mysterious — “She’s talking about pairs of hands —
why pairs of hands?” And why not hands of pears
or bears or rickety rocking chairs? A, A, A.
Why is this so hard?
“The tear at the end of ‘Man-Moth’ is what
the artist has to offer,” which, so, goodness!
What a boon to bear the inner-swoon!
Now I know what to do if I can’t make rent —
Do you take tears in check form, sir or miss?
I hear what an artist has to offer is only this —
Book readings can be revived under the knife —
Cut through the onion, and what do we have?
A miniature Gunter Grass! Oh, what the hell.
Why am I answering this? What’s the point
in yelling at someone who’s not there? What
do we do with those who can’t read a poem?
Write them a poem? Yeah. That’s a great idea.
Write a Poem.
