I should have said I was an essayist, not a poet. Now look at me. On a packed train headed to Alaska with hundreds of other poets. They say Alaska is pretty at certain times. At least we're still in America.
Our wonderful Congress decided poets were writing too many depressing poems leading to mass suicides. We had to go en mass.
I can't sleep. Rumor has it these trains are leaving every half hour. Eliminate the messenger. We must be close by now. The last mile is always the longest.
I can't believe we get shipped out and they let acoustic folk singers stay. No one is more depressing than that group.
None of us feel like reciting poetry. I tried when we first boarded and was shouted down. If we reject our essence, what does that make us? What happens to our identity? Will our kids grow up hating us? I
pray they have burgers and fries up here. I don't like fish, except talapia. Maybe I can write a poem about that. What rhymes with talapia?
I enjoy being on topaya?
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