I do not excuse anger in poetry.
Don’t care about poverty or your victim’s lament.
Catharsis is for college, first drafts,
perhaps a reading now and then.
My world is wholly beautiful.
And, when it’s not,
ignore me or cast me aside:
I’ll recover.
I only go out when my hair looks right anyway.
And, poems, too, should mean to be.
They are not tools
to magnify your loss, mistake or PMS.
Talk about war on a battlefield.
Talk about garbage in a shrink’s office,
or on your mother’s couch strewn with tissues.
At the very least, purge yourself
on a porch step with a wise woman there to console you.
- kw
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