poem of the day 04.02.15

vanity fair

the poet

had a display for her new book

up at the old squirrel hill barnes & noble

but that wasn’t enough for her

she found me working the circulation desk

in the midst of another hangover

contemplating my fourteen thousand a year salary

and the fact that no one wanted my writing

she said, there’s a display in the lobby

for black history month

okay, i said

i knew the poet from seeing her around campus

back when i went there and thought that college

meant that you’d amount to something in life

other than being a guy with a hangover

working the circulation desk for 14K a year

she said, where’s my book?

you have all of the usual suspects in there

baldwin, hughes, dubois, wright, douglas, and ellison

all men, she said

if you look closely, i said,

i think there’s some rita dove

the poet said, that’s not the point

the point is i’m a woman, a black woman

i’m an artist in this city and a teacher

i do readings, i sit on committees

i’ve written three books in twenty years

and none of them are in your display

i want to know what

you’re going to do about this?

the poet asked me

i shrugged

i said, lady, i think you’re overvaluing

my place in this institution

they check my bag when i leave here

to make sure that i don’t steal anything

oh please, the poet said

because she wasn’t buying my oppression

i wanted to tell her all about hangovers

and fourteen thousand a year

rejection letters and manuscripts fit to burn

but  she said, well, something has to be done about this

i said, why don’t you go

up to the barnes & noble

stare at the display of your book for a few hours

maybe that’ll help

the poet rolled her eyes

she said, this isn’t finished

then she stormed out of the library

into the bright cold of an early february afternoon

to go and teach people

how to become poets just like her

while i stood there and checked my wallet

found that i had three dollars left

almost screamed out hallelujah

then wondered what it was i’d do for lunch.