To a Hack Poet

I will tally the small things, the bits
Of a world which will not submit
To your mediation: the baby bunny
Which nibbles the sage, the cottonwood
Fluff floating onto the lawn, the dense
Air suggesting that summer is coming,
The riot of green in the fields and the trees,
And I'll put them against what you made
In your workshop, set apart from
Everything that I know, air-conditioned,
Conditioned, likewise, to be mannered
And fake, unattached to the dirt
And the wind and the tangible elements
Of an existence you may have experienced
Back in your youth, before you got into
Your graduate school. Now, you're a hack.
That's okay. You've been published.
All of the rest of the world has shrugged.
There's a chapbook somewhere with your
Name on its cover, but bunnies appear
Near the sage and they nibble, uncaring,
And cottonwood fluff falls like snow,
And the sound of the language, beyond
Mediation, will, one day, eclipse what
You made in your workshop. Small
Things, sometimes, assume such
Significance. See them. Come out
Of your room.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 44 times
Written on 2021-05-26 at 01:32

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