here's an old one...sorry.
tough nigh battling the bottle and
the sanitation department.
no one will ever be right
we are still arguing about this
this poetess and i
about what is poetry
what makes poetry
it’s such a dumb argument
but neither of us will stop it
because we’re opinionated assholes
she’ll write me defending herself
and i’ll write back something biting and sarcastic
and then the whole mess will start
it seems that neither of us have anything
better to do
i’m sure there’s garbage that needs to go out
bills to pay
pets to feed, or nails to be clipped
paint to watch as it chips off the wall
there’s really no sense in arguing
about poetry, i sometimes think.
i wonder if she thinks it too.
but then another email comes from her
one saying she’ll defend her opinions to the death
and i sigh knowing we are in for the long haul.
i guess this could be worse.
we could be arguing politics.
but, then again, arguing politics is a lot like
most politicians are bad as most poetry is bad
and when arguing the two you can rest assured
that no one will ever be right.
she knows this and i know this
yet i sit down at the machine while the world burns
the dishes sit in gray filth
and the hardwood floor collects dust
to write her another email calling her ideals
stodgy and archaic
waiting to see what she’ll strike with next
in our petty war over nothing and everything.