People rarely
ever see anything
Unless it JUMPS at them.
They have to be shocked and
Notified to what’s in front
Of their own faces
“Oh excuse me, sir or ma’am
But you’re looking at something good
Something worth reading.”
A poem is never really appreciated as much
As when it is printed and bound
And stamped with the publisher’s seal of approval
All the papers need to be water marked
And bound in red tape
Closed with red wax
Locked in an envelope
That reads
“Confidential, this is too great
To let others see for free.”
And even then, it’s not official
Until it is signed on the x,
And made on legal sized paper;
Sent to the Vatican, the governor, the reviewers,
And everyone important gets their say,
Or until it’s bound in leather
And locked away for the rest of eternity.
Filed along the other masters
Like Longfellow and Poe.
Locked in a poem’s heaven
Where “Jabberwocky” greets each one
To nirvana
Nothing is taken for granted
When it’s set in stone and
Is the final draft
Never to change again.