Thursday, December 9, 2010
A poet laureate whose college days
A poet laureate whose college days were spent in drunken pursuit of girls. A hollow moon, the leaves are down, with tips of fingers that heal. At the podium, he’s wearing the tie his daughter gave him before she died. Opening remarks: she waves from the audience, cannot suppress a squeal. This time she’s six years old. Ceremony. Smoke. Applause. A burning match held to his diploma. The men in white rush in. They remove his pen. The blood, the blood, is real. A reception follows: all is right with the world.
“A poet laureate whose college days” added to Poems, Slightly Used.
In the Forum: queer little mummies of thought.