Poets Should Not Wed Poets
In Santa Fe, all the downtown buildings
are pink adobe. Some two-story
geometrics with arched windows, some--
like the McDonald’s--
squat, rosy boxes beside logo-bearing signs.
It’s all very picturesque at first,
so visually poetic.
But I wonder do the buildings tire
of each other,
search in vain for steel and glass
or a tiny white cottage,
even a rusty mobile home?
Balance beside a Canadian lake,
those who speak
and those who listen.
and the stone grottos they lap against.
and the bears that prowl amongst them.
and the coffee-black sky that accepts it.
Poets should not wed poets,
should not struggle with metaphors
for garbage night.
Much better to tune ears to casual wisdom
and write it down
without fear of infringement.