Is it an affinity for fine words,
Like those who taste Scotch
To distinguish flavors of
Smoke and earth,
Leather and tobacco?
Or is a poet one who is keen
To his or her surroundings?

For example, would a poet
Notice the old woman
Sitting on a bus from the library
With her hands clasped
On a copy of Hard Times?
Or would a poet simply
Dream up such an occasion
To springboard a write
About the upcoming election?

Sometimes I wonder
How many poets are roaming
The streets where I live.
I'd like to go searching for
A society of underground poets
Who are secretly fashioning
The verse the world needs
For true and lasting change.
They might have a thing or two
To teach an amateur like me.