Day 30: Tupelo Press 30/30 Poetry Project ( National Poetry Month)
AT THE BAR
“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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