“Young man,
you wanted to talk
with me?”
“Yes sir.
You know
it’s been
two years
your daughter and
I,
well
sir,
I just want to ask your ok
that I marry
her.”
“You’re still
calling
yourself
a
poet?”
“Sir,
I teach,
but yes
yes
that is my primary
work.”
“I don’t
even
understand
most
of what you
have
shown
me,
you have
sold
not a thing
not one
thing!”
“I am young…”
(Pause)
(Sigh)
“Great,
but
how do you
expect
to
support
my child,
seriously
now,
with
poems?”
“I will support her
with
love!”
“I certainly
hope so,
but practically speaking
please
now
no figurative talk,
how
will you
pay
for basics,
and
if you have
a
family,
it does not seem likely
poems
will
be
like
gold!”
“Oh
I differ
poems ARE
gold
that’s just the thing!”
Years passed
they married
and
he was nominated
for a Pulitzer Prize
His teaching was
ongoing,
she worked
as
well,
they were happy
and he
wrote a poem,
several
a month
at minimum
and
some
times
many
in
one
week
just for her
He also
wrote
poems
to his
father in law
who
had others
read
them to him
and
still said
“I don’t understand
a
word
he’s written!”
Their
children
were very happy
Over their front door
a
sign:
“Poets Welcome Here!”
Some
said
he was like
a Pied Piper
Poems spilled
out
as he walked,
poems lifted up
into
the sky
like balloons
where
he stood,
and
always
almost always
the
sunshine
One
day
the father in law
feeling
more surly
than
usual
sat him down
sat him down
and very sternly
almost
in a snarling
whisper
grumbled:
“You S O B,
you
make
me
feel
worthless
with
those poems,
you are
such
an
emotional
person,
and
I
finally
realize
the whole time
you
are like a musician
and
I
just
had to listen…
Well
god damn
if
I
don’t love
you
son
god
damn
if I
don’t
love you!”