poetry 101…7:45 a.m.

i never sat with brautigan
in a north beach bar
or hid out with bukowski in the city of angels
but if i had
i may have learned early
what the pages
don’t reveal

instead
i taught a poetry class
to your abused
broken & neglected
children and started to give
them metaphors
similes &
personification
but they knew figurative language
well enough and tried to wear
the face of normal wanting
to be like other kids
tried to hide the scars
with just inked tattoos and too
much massacre

they read their poems
of incest
of rape
of beatings
of parents in prison
of foster homes
of being hooked on meth made
down a dead end country road
of how life is not suppose
to be at age 15
they learned that giving
human characteristics
to inanimate objects
sometimes lessened the pain

but i changed my lesson
plan when one of them said

hey teach
what is good poetry

i suppose it is keeping
your wounds close
to the surface so they can heal
quicker

is that it

on most days
it is

Scot Young:

when they asked me for a bio

in 1960
scot young
watched
hopalong &
roy rogers
on a green
naguhyde sofa
stitched in
cowboys &
bucking broncos
complete with
wagon wheel arms

on saturday mornings
he cocked
his red ryder rifle
before ARs and AKs
before the country
went to hell
in a hate basket
when the good guys
always won