––An irrational or disproportionate fear of poetry
This cannot be right.
I would have guessed fear
of cities, subways, taxi cabs;
of bodies pressed to get somewhere
down noisome streets that reek
of chestnuts, hot dogs, hardhats’ sweat,
and hawkers hawking faux accessories.
Certainly not of meters and tropes
luring mind-waves to slow down
and heart-waves to swell up.
Nor of What does it mean? posed
by teachers schooled to explicate
fourteen lines in multi-paragraphs.
And, yet, when poems proclaim humans
on this wobbly earth have muffed their cosmic test
or they stir up forgotten narratives
could the witness they bear incite
a racing pulse and open wild eyes?