Sitting on my couch, at my house,
he sips down a Coke, puts down
the paper, and asks me, "What kind
of food you got?"
"Check the fridge," I tell him. I tell him
about some of this modern poetry
I read the other day, poems maybe
two words, just a few sounds in them; I tell him,
"man, I just don’t get that, you know?"
"Modern poetry," he sneers. "Man, don’t you know, that’s
not modern," he sneers. "Way back, ancient times, the Greeks
were all like that, man. The Greeks, they were one-word poets.
You think they didn’t know the word ‘emotion’ has got
‘motion’ in it?
