Looking for a Poet
In Alexandria, the town before Washington, I waited for
the bus, it didn’t stop, but then it did and my face was the
whitest one on the bus. I had the address of a bar where
a famous poet used to frequent, but he was not there he was
at his yearly stay at a mental institution.
I had brought some poems with me wanted him to read,
this was years ago I was young and thought I was unique.
Blessed days do no rob a young man of his dream.
After a few pitchers of beer, I got up and tried to read me
work, but the noise and no one listened.
I was ignored like someone walking naked through town
and no seem to notice. I was told to leave. The police,
criticised now, drove me to Alexandria and to my ship.
I shook hands and with the police officers to give the impression
of fame. In the crew’s eyes, I was famous but the skipper
was still a teetotal ass.