for Jonathan & Kitty
I whined about driving west, just missing you,
Except I don’t know if you know about
The poem I wrote because I posted it
In an email form which maybe didn’t get through,
Or maybe you already read it on the air,
Or made fun of me when I couldn’t hear
(Because, as I pointed out, I lose your signal
On my way to work). I know I sound pitiful.
Poets are used to rejection. But somehow this
Has come to matter more, or at least as much,
Or almost as much. It matters, at least.
I no longer care about swag. Well, maybe a shirt.
What I want is to be Triple M’s poet laureate.
Or, failing that, could you play a request?
Wouldn’t it be great if Triple M had a poet laureate? I would completely take requests. Need an ode to Mumford and Sons? I’m your girl. Or maybe what you’re wanting is a heartfelt request that Springsteen bring his tour to Madison, the heart of a recent populist uprising (in ballad form, perhaps, something that could be sung to the tune of one of his laments).
Or I could do a haiku on the signs of spring:
poor willow catkins
swaying in the winter breeze
cold squirts of mustard
Or maybe not. I’m not very good at haiku.
But what about this? A sonnet report of stuff for sale along Highway 14? Today for example, there was
A big RV by the trailer park in Lone Rock,
A whole grain bin (in parts) at the Co-Op
And one of those cursed locations where no one
Will ever make a business run….
Or wildlife reports–how many sandhill cranes I’ve seen recently, or roadkill counts, or what various herds of cows are up to.
P.S. I’ve repeated the last line of my first pitiful sonnet as the first line of this pitiful one, which means I’m plunging into what is known as a crown of sonnets. I can’t stop myself once I’ve started these, so you’ll get at least five more sonnets, no matter what.