High Notes

As poets go,

I am no Sultan of Swat.

I’m more

sort of

pickin’ splinters

from my butt.

Then, again,

there was only one

Georgia Peach.

I’ve said it before,

the vast majority of us

are journeymen,

but we have glory in our hearts

and we still stretch

and stretch again

to hit the high notes.

And, between the stretches,

we hum a few bars

here at the end of the bench.