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We listened to the poet read
to millions.
He read his poem about salt shakers on a table.
Too there were other whims,
Made me wonder about his stable.
As he quietly spoke of simple things,
For instance, "some pears in a bowl,"
I wondered about the applause that rings,
I thought, "I'm telling you, he is on a roll."
Why should I even bother to mention tale,
Of cowboys who saunter along in tall boot,
Or Indian who whisp, glide, as silent gale,
A coyote who across the road might scoot.
How could that compare,
With that calm, gentle observation,
Of a bowl and that little pear,
Even and ever the poet still pokes fun!
This surely has to be the reasoning
Of such a laid back read,
With all the world in such hot seasoning,
The unhurried poet our mind has freed. |
