“Oh, and would you bring something to read for us?”
\n\u2014 The postscript that kills.<\/p>\n
The voice on the phone had invited me
\nto sit in a coffee shop
\nearly on a Sunday afternoon
\nand be interviewed
\nfor television.<\/p>\n
I should have known:
\nI had seen her at gala intermissions
\nfollowed by a camera crew
\nshouting questions
\nat outrageously coiffed celebrities
\nwho presumably had
\nmore interesting opinions
\nthen we jabbering peons
\nfrom the cheap seats.<\/p>\n
Now, it would seem,
\neither everyone worthwhile
\nhad canceled out
\nor I had stopped
\ndrooling on the street.<\/p>\n
What would I read for “us”?
\nThere is no shortage of material;
\nI have reams of pages
\non which my words appear.
\nBut now I have to decide
\nwhich of these pages
\nmakes me feel enthusiastic
\nenough to read it aloud
\nbut not feel threatened
\nby the compulsion
\nof some god of writing
\nto punish the babblings
\nof idiots, morons, and fools.
\nA fool I do not mind being;
\nthere is something forgivable
\nabout being a fool.
\nI guess I fear most
\nthat the writing CSI team
\nwill analyze the evidence
\nthen prove that
\nwhat was committed here
\nwas not poetry but nonsense.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The poet reacts to an invitation to be interviewed for television. (#908) Continue reading