Friday, March 4, 2016

poem of the day 03.04.16

a poem for a guy like me

reading the poets lately
and so many of them have gone long winded
epics should’ve ended
with whitman weeping over manhattan
but i’ve got one poet
going on for six pages about her girlfriend’s vagina
another going on for ten about meth, for christ’s sake
it’s enough to make me
take up joke book and comic book reading again
most of the long winded poets are writing poems
about the poem too
it happens at times, i guess
a.d. winans has done it
so has jack micheline
saint bukowski has vomited more poems
about poetry than most
when he wasn’t writing about the race track
almost all the good and bad poets
end up writing poems about poetry
most poets are self-reflexive and deep down know
that no one out there really cares
about how the poem grabs you
but just once i like to see a poem about poetry
written for a guy like me
the kind who drinks too much vodka
and says stupid, drunken shit to his wife
hangs up on her co-workers when they call
and spends the night sleeping on the couch
a guy so anxious and stressed all the time
he gets pains in his arms and his chest
the eventual heart attack man
a man who says, i’ll take a whole bottle of pills
if he becomes president
a poem about beautiful poetry
for the guy who shoves vegetables down
like he’s eating kerosene
sucks buffalo wing sauce like it’s going out of style
a  blood red meat poem about blood red meat poetry
circling a group of scared vegans poets
and their thirty-six page odes to the written word
the two magnum bottles of red
half a bottle of extra strength aspirin poem
that can’t even get off the couch
because he’s so fucking hungover
i’d like to see one of these verbose word-slingers
write an epic poem about poetry
for the guy (or gal) who wonders why
that check still hasn’t cashed
who’s got the sixth day of the job tomorrow
and itchy balls all of the time
the people who get coughed on
on the train
and can’t find a quiet place for lunch
the poem about the poetry of killing the morning’s cockroach
before the first cup of coffee
a serene poem about the poetry of swimming alone
in a vast green-gray ocean
truth be told
maybe i should go ahead and write that poem
it’s been a while since i’ve written
a poem about the act of poetry itself
but i don’t know if this is it
it’s not even two pages long
truth be told i’ve had a bit of writer’s block lately
because people have gotten so violently banal
i’ve stopped paying attention and have run out of ideas
honestly i’m feeling a touch anxious about the country
writing this poem about poetry
and i might have to stop soon
pop two gas-ex and take a shit while reading the new york times
apply for a work visa and move to canada
where i’ll write poems about the poetry
of the barren landscape
or what a drag hockey and toronto are
one about the tenants of nationalized health care
poutine and snow
how much better the beer
and  maple syrup are up there.


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