Friday, December 14, 2012

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.

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