THE END OF POETRY MONTH

~a manifesto, or possibly just a rant

 

People who write poems do it ALL THE TIME.

Even when they aren’t writing.

When they’re walking, eating,

sitting in the coffee shop staring out the window.

When they’re watching movies,

running errands,

drinking with friends.

ALL THE TIME.

And once a year,

in the cruelest month,

you haul them out,

put them on display,

act like you care.

THEY ARE NOT LIKE A DISEASE

requiring an awareness month.

You do not pay them a thing

and they do not ask you to.

Maybe they should. 

Maybe they should

go on strike.

In April.

No bookstore readings,

no interviews. 

No new poems.

The extremists among them might

knock poetry books from library shelves,

might stand on street corners.

Their placards might read

 

NOT POETRY MONTH

HAVE YOU NOTICED?

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3 comments on “

  1. Abrah says:

    Okay this made me laugh 🙂 You made it through April!

    >

  2. Christine Lee Moore says:

    It’s sort of like that with people who do art with found objects – the part about doing it all the time. Everything you see you’re thinking, hmmmm, what could I do with that stone, seed, shard of glass, cast off metal doo-dad.

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