I have
poet friends
who hate
poems about
writing poetry
and I think
that’s all right,
they can go ahead
and hate that,
but poets
will continue
to write poems
about writing poetry
until the cows
come home
and even after
the cows come
home because
cows don’t give
a shit, I mean
they understand
that poetry is
what a poet does
in the way that
cooking is what
a chef does and
a cow would
never tell a
chef that maybe
they should move
on from food,
you know, expand
their horizons,
no, that’s just
ludicrous. What’s
hidden in this
poem is hidden
so well that
you will never
find it so don’t
even bother
looking and
isn’t everything
somehow about
what it is?
michael jarmer 