poem of the day 04.13.11

poetry aisle

in the bookstore
walking the poetry aisle
on another
nothing day
congregating with the damned
i take random books
off of the shelf
read a line or two
searching for something
that i know i won’t get
before putting them back
where they were
thinking about
the authors of those books
those poets
sitting in front of machines
or notebooks
writing down the words
that i just read
wondering if they thought them
immortal
pedantic
or simply passable enough
to fill a book
if they imagined a guy like me
reading their words
forgetting about them
in the next instant
the way one would
a stop sign
a red light
or a pile of dog shit on the street
and then i turn down another aisle
in the bookstore
where the history books are located
knowing damned well
that there never was
a cherry tree
for good old george washington
to chop down.