CASE OF THE HALF-POET

Happy Green Beer Day to you all! (Oh, yes, and isn't there a saint associated with today's festivities as well?) I woke up this morning with a couple lame-duck ideas waddling around in my head, and just as I was about to resign myself to Revision Duty, I got an idea. You tell me if it worked. Here's the product. (Now, onto those pesky revisions...)



CASE OF THE HALF-POET


unfortunately in my line of work
I come across a great many poets,
most of them narcissists
or photographers in their spare time
who might not stand out much
on their own but have a peculiar way
of glorifying the slums of depression
and the jailhouses of suicide
simply by tracing their footsteps
and letting the ink dry where it will.
they’re a dull lot but to befriend a poet
is to keep one’s best interests at heart.
they are the homing beacons of good wine
and treasure seekers until death;
they may be selfish but they are
beyond easy to follow.
you understand now why the case
of the half-poet was particularly attractive
to me from the beginning.
she walked into lucifer’s pub
like she’d been born there,
dotted with faux-pearl buttons
curls of smoke tangled in her hair
and before her first glass of bordeaux
was even half empty she placed
one bejeweled hand over her heart
and said that she quite enjoys
happiness stacked year upon year
and if she were forced to overhear
one more time the loneliness of childhood
she would give up her pens altogether.
I almost dropped my scotch
and demanded she produce some free verse
at once, which she did.
something about turquoise and the deutschmark.
from that point on I gave it to her straight.
lady, I said as lucifer brought me our check,
I am at your service.
tell me where to find this happiness
and you will never know ambiguity again.