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Poetry
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-62Poetry What will you do when POETRY strikes? Crawl under your desk, get on your knees. Clasp your hands across the back of your neck And tuck your head between your knees. {and kiss your butt goodbye} In a head on collision with POETRY, at any speed, A seatbelt will do you no good. When rowing your dory of story Down the treacherous white water river that is the English language, And you have safely stern-dropped the dangling participle And you had no problem with splitting the infinitive, And you are approaching one of the stretches of river That makes no sense, Even to the experienced boatman. You know, the stretch where “womb,” “comb,” and “tomb” do not rhyme But “rough fluff” and “enough stuff” do? It is there, just below those terrible river rocks, Left of “The Un-runable Hole of Rule and Order” That lies the eddy of POETRY, Which, when caught, offers a safe respite from the raging river. But there is no place to camp. POETRY is like an airplane landing. Any poem you can walk away from . . . is a good one! Copyright © 2007 Steven Fromholz ...