The copier ate my originals. And
they had ink signatures
Oh, man. I got them out the other end
- they were stuck, I pulled them loose
as carefully as I can, and then - just
look! Macerated, torn
crumpled, all but digested, but
this is recoverable. This
will not mar the accord. I will
be able to smooth, flatten out, scan,
then clean up the digital rips, all
without altering a jot of language - who
is to know the difference?
And nothing at all shady about this. But
somewhere, in the back of my mind,
in my cabinet of ink originals, this thing
is going to sit.
is going to look so dumb
if they ever ask to see it
It will look - what? Deliberate
-ly demolished! Smooshed, half
torn in half
and a big corner off, floating
separate in the clear cellophane
envelope we use
to keep it together. It will look
like we're the kind of outfit who is like
"got one signed! A sacred agreement,
HERE'S HOW WE TREAT THESE!!" Man, I hate
what this piece of paper,
looking like this,
says about me.
A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.
Try the RANDOM button, to sample the sometimes surprising breadth of quality (and in several Novembers, breathtaking quantity as well), or click the "ANY GOOD" label* for those poems labeled with it. On any poem, old or new, feel free to offer your remarkable insight or critical acumen.
*I haven't yet revisited many pockets and stretches of time to appraise and label the "any goods," so some are missing. Please feel free to point out omissions, or - especially - erroneous inclusions, in comments.