LAST POEM for Tupelo Press's 30/30 Project

Day 30: Tupelo Press 30/30 Poetry Project ( National Poetry Month) 

“Tell me how you write thirty poems,” 
a pirate says. 

He opens up a cold 
beer and hands it to me.

I say that it is easy 
like a serpentine dragon 

flying though a keyhole. Perhaps, 
it is more like a goldfish, lost in orange 

juice when I accidently drink it.

Either metaphor does not 
get through to the God damned pirate. 

I meet Queen Elizabeth in California too. She rules 
every green golf course 

and teaches me how to own it. Her tired 
poets are clogged in the beautiful fountains.

“You don’t want” 

adorns the kites reflected in the water. 

In her sparkling purse, I find 
a picture of Dachau on April 29, 1945. 

All the survivors waive at the sun 
faded sky that 

I want twenty seven minutes 

before the first day of May.

I scream, “!”

NOTE*** I received the following requested words for my last poem. (Death of a poetry session, Sun fades, Tired poet, Pirates, Kites, Fish, Orange juice, Beer, How you came to rule the world, Elizabeth, Serpantine Dragon, and Dachau)

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