In the Name of Poetry

The poet I’ve been reading a lot lately

writes very frequently about smoking,

booze, women, sex and the race track.

His poetry seems raw and distasteful

as he writes disdainfully about them

all. He was well-known and respected

when he was alive. To me he seemed

an angry and unhappy man. I write

poetry too, although I am not renown,

nor is there any indication my works

will ever attain that stature or acclaim.

I have reached an age where such

aspirations have long since slipped

away. Besides, I went to the horse

race track one time in my life with

my brother. I placed my bet with all

the rest and lost the twenty-dollars

I had with me. That’s it for me, I told

my brother as I lit my last cigarette.

I could use a drink or two, I said. But

I’m out of cash. Can you spare me a few

bucks till I get paid? I was newly divorced

from my first wife of 17-years. And with

her I’ll have to say the sex was not very

good. (I’m sure she’d have the same to say

about me.) I was pretty angry back then

as I recall, but didn’t begin writing poetry

until much later when things for me began

to settle down. And looking back on the

whole ordeal, that may have turned out
to be just one more mistake I made along
the way.

Chris Hanch 6-17-18