The Guggenheim Poet
Knows how you feel.
Knows exactly how you feel.
The Poet Laureate
Is a precious instrument
Who can predict minute
Changes in the weather
And knows without being told
What a headless swan
Signifies.
The NEA poets had
Grannies in Dachau
And uncles who were
Funny drunks and
Parents kind enough to die
In fascinating ways
So they’d have something
Tragic to write about.
The University poets have
Magical gardens filled
With sylphs and faeries
And see Etruscan warriors
And fertility goddesses sucking
On Slurpies at the 7-11.
The Academy of Poets
Gathers at the Scranton
Ramada to discuss
Retirement benefits and
The future of poetry.
Somewhere nearby
Ron Androla demonstrates
How the right seven words
Can simultaneously
Offend everyone.
The next morning
The Good Poets
Stroll confidently
With all their heartfelt
Observations (and dental plans)
Tucked away in leather
Italian valises to classes
Of yawning undergraduates.
We all know how they feel.
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