The last three groups of poems I have sent out to journals have come back with the “This is not our standard rejection slip” rejection slip. I guess I should take this as a compliment, especially since I’ve gone quite a while without trying to publish poems, but it feels vaguely patronizing. (That’s not exactly the right word but I can’t think of another one.) If I were 26 I’d be delighted; at 56, not so much.
DAY BEFORE MY BIRTHDAY
Half of life
ends up on the floor
the other half
isn’t that eager
who doesn’t want
to be healthy
where is almost
no healthiness
if you think even a little back
or forth you come to the lie
the part that refuses to continue
so let me just start you off
this morning with this text
on how much I owe you all.