By Joseph Hesch
Talk to people about the morning fog and
most will don yawning expressions of
But write a poem about the fog…
how it comes in on little burglar feet
or cools some of my savage need for her…
and half the who-carers listen to you
like your words were custom-made for
their souls’ troves of tropes, touching
their aching emotions like misty mythic balm.
The other half don’t even bother
with the who-cares. They will turn and
run from your metaphors
like they’re cannibalistic similes,
leaving you with bare air between you and
the embarrassment of artistic pettifoggery.
But, in the one-half who listens,
who peers through the low-lying vapor
of your words, you realize
being a poet is twice as morning cool
as being a meteorologist.
© 2012 Joseph Hesch