poem of the day 03.25.09

but what about in this room

they love you in spain
oscar’s getting emails about
the new poem
and he let’s you know
that they love you in spain.
they love you in england too.
you have a couple out there
in england that you can
search for on the internet
and look at, thinking
yes i am loved in spain.
you’re doing fine in england.
they have your shit in scotland
and someone in ireland might
actually want to know who you are.
some of america likes you.
the tried and true people.
the ones who write kind notes
and thank you,
or write kind notes and say
not this time.
they still like you just not the poems.
america is tricky, though,
because you don’t see much there
that you like.
a couple of people.
a few decent editors.
a few good bars.
you’ve broken america more
than the other countries
but you still seem vast and lost.
let me be the one to tell you, brother,
that it really doesn’t matter about any
of them.
not spain.
not england or scotland
and certainly not america.
it’s right here that matters.
these walls. this morning.
this machine that is humming like
it’s going to die on you at any second.
the bad news of the world that you keep reading
and reading
to avoid this moment.
the moment where the sun begins
to ache
and you sigh, have a sip of tea
before you cramp up, lay the hands
on the keyboard
and spill out your soul
into the vast echo of this room
a room that gives you so little love some days
you sometimes think that it must
borderline on hate.