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POETRY
Dear Mr. Collins
Once, in a poem, you addressed the reader,
calling them dear: well, that was me
(once, your reader)
Now, I address you, as you see,
although I won’t be licking a stamp, or
visiting a mailbox, nor do I know
where you happen to live.
My address is
purely theoretical, not unlike the snow
that isn’t really snow:
it’s just white noise that blows
across late night TV.
You talk of looking out windows:
all mine badly need to be cleaned.
Would this help my vision to flow?
or is all of that metaphor,
a thing in time to make the rhyme.
Then again, isn’t that what we are all here for?
So, out the window, holding a coffee,
or at a table in Paris
(in gay Pair-EE)
watching someone rapt in hubris:
this would be all a poet really needs!
A little travel, a little caffeine -
wine and observation,
screw vacations
everyday life is where words take up residence,
pedaling…
