Poetry Month -- The Last Day
Today's poem is pretty apt, I think.
THE LAST POEM IN THE WORLD
Would I write it if I could?
Bet your glitzy ass I would.
I love the confidence, maybe even arrogance of this poem. "Hell yeah, I'm good enough to write the last poem in the world."
Hayden Carruth lives in the next town over from the small town where I grew up. He's one of my mother's favorite poets. I once read a series of letters between him and (I believe) his sister in which he described an enormous mushroom that had begun growing on his kitchen floor. It was one of the best letters I've ever read. He also came up with the excellent title Scrambled Eggs and Whiskey.
So long, National Poetry Month. Let's not make a big thing of it now, okay?