I do wake up reading poems and most often read while in bed at night. But life can be busy, especially for someone like me who works in a bookstore part-time for a near minimum wage salary and a boss who at times treats employees like they're well-paid pro athletes in training camp. In the little free time I can find I try to write my own poems and stories in local coffee shops such as Estate Coffee, Poetic Republic, and Local Coffee. By time I try to write blog posts I'm tired and too often I feel too worn out or lazy to reread and edit what I've written. The fear of presenting something sloppy to the public makes me hesitant to write, but there are times when I tell myself "You've got to write something about this poem. For example, today I read "Socialists" by Robert Wrigley from his book, Anatomy of Melancholy and Other Poems. I can't say I voted for Bernie Sanders in the recent primary, but the poem should have been dedicated to him and all other Socialist Democrats (and Socialist Socialists) in our country today. With apologies to Penguin Poets, Wright's publisher, here's a sneak peak.
I know it's not much, especially when the next paragraph says, "'You keep that pipe of yours away from my daughter / or I'll torque the thing clean off with this wrench.' / Christ said, brandishing a fourteen-inch quick fit /my way...." I know it's not much, but this is one of the most enjoyable poems I've read recently. It ends, "but your father / had no country to fight for. Only the earth. / He was, as you were, as I may be myself, / someday, a citizen of the world."