Monday, May 11, 2009


The American poet read
Something she called
A desert girl fantasy
I thought it was
A marvelous poem
I tried to contained
The emotions that
Such word stirred
Such as imported images

The second poet
Read about being
A writer
And the struggles
Of such reality
But my favorites
Were his war poems
I mentioned this to him
And he looked at me
With Viet Nam eyes

When it was my turn
I deliberately read
The most awkward
Of my poems
Hoping for the best
And a quick getaway
But an ex bureaucrat
Told me the poems
Where captivating
I asked why
He said it was the
Way I read them

I walked away from him
Got my check
From the host
And got out of there
As fast as I could


Blog Author said...

good thing they got your name right :)

Martínez said...

Sometimes it is to their advantage...