busy

ok, so, i'm busy, you're busy,
that's fine, now to continue:
i do read poetry i don't get.
it is either beyond me or crap, or mostly crap.

then there is the good stuff,
really fine, you’ve seen it.
literally beyond me.
i understand that situation.

it’s like fencing,
mask, vest and foil
against a professional opponent
could cut you to ribbons,

or at least prong you well, for sure.
but anyone claiming to be
a professional fencer
is either lying or a 300 year old pirate.

now, thinking of people who read blog poetry,
weep and read it three times,
and weep themselves to sleep. hey, read a book
or clean the house, it’s better for everyone.

to read for enjoyment.
with dictionary on my knee.
is not, i say, not my cup
of soup, of wine or tea.

i’m old fashioned, spoiled.
and prefer to understand what i read.
so don’t try to impress,
just entertain me.

poetry is a gift
for the people.
make it easy
to unwrap.

i had some of my paintings
sent back from Rome, and then
with knives and scissors and rolling on the floor,
it took a half hour sweat to open the package.

were they afraid of attack
by the mad mailed-picture pirates,
or are they paid by
how much tape and string they use?

that’s it; and now, to both of us
good luck, good day, soups on.
be on your way. let’s be on our way.
you’re busy, i’m busy