And would it have been worth it after all? TS Eliott
For Nicole Bernadette Birkett
we boomer poets
with our iambic breath
will be gone soon enough
our chapbooks dumped
in amalgamated landfills
sea gulls picking at the ink
crooning out our rhythm
we fall asleep
in front of blue screens
feeling the chill of having nothing more to say
but I wanted you to know
once a woman stopped me on the street
asking if I was that poet who raged her into being
she said she loved my words