Yeah, right. Like anyone, me included,
could do anything with as much
acumen as Li Po or Billy Collins.
Perhaps maybe there plays a toddler
somewhere along New Orleans’ boardwalk,
who fills his neon green sand bucket
and contemplates the specks of glass
and will someday pen the next
“Drinking Alone,” but it won’t be me.
No, I am much too busy writing
anonymous blog posts detailing
insanity and administering nonsense
that writing after these fellows
would mean paying attention to form
and influence and maybe even
reading a few of their poems
or reading something other
than billboards and tea leaves.