(poet)

I phone a friend
and leave a message
that I want to dis-
cuss ennui.
He is the local
authority.

Scooping out both
my pen nibs
from the ink
bottle,
I think it’s
not that it is
hard to write
poetry, but
it is hard
to be
a poet.
That is the challenge.

My fingers a vivid
green from the ink,
I think of the woman
stopping to talk
to me in the restaurant
about my poem,
adding she didn’t buy
a book, short of cash.
The book would have
only meant a couple
of bucks.
Where is the money
coming from I ask
God, anyone else
listening in the room.

Do not despair
is my mantra,
lately more than
ever.
I say it at the
kitchen sink
when I am thinking
about things,
when I remember.
Do not despair.
I’d like a higher
goal, but for now
this is it.
If I can just
abate despair, I can work
another day,
write another
poem.

11/29/99-1