notes from last night
“today we will write poetry”
the lecturer said
what he meant was
that today we will
put words in short lines
that endstop or enjamb
thoughts and emotions
halfway across a page
we
the would-be writers
and poets
listen with
bored attention
to the patronising pomposity
of someone
who knew someone
in a publishers office
once
they
the class
sit pens poised to write
as they worry about issues
of voice and addressee
I
the I who might not be I
who might be a persona
a subtle construct
a third person
hidden by diction
or who might be everyman
(and woman)
the lecturer
or a stone or a worm
or God
I
the I who is actually me
(whatever that is)
writes this
and worries
if the shops will still have
milk when I am
on my way home
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