The Wives of the Poets

This bard was mad and this one

and so were they all for that matter

this one drank this one hated

his father and so did they all

ask their wives their good

wives their house

wives

and this one taught this one

cried this one was lost

one went all the way

home again and again

this one knew the way

this one's mother left

and so did they

didn't they

just love their love

poems didn't they all give their all

for that matter

don't ask

their wives their mothers their temperate daughters

their cold sullen sons

this one wanted

a muse a mistress a woman to mis-

treat an apple a fish an old wife

a midwife will tell you my own was the best

or the worst

depending

and the wives of the poets

loved them regardless in spite

of their faults their needs

their abuses their incessant tuneless singing

and this one died and so

did they all dead drunk for that matter

dead broke dead still and all over

America all over the Western World the wives

of the poets

in hardcover and paper

on nightstands in kitchens in classrooms

on couches and coffeetables

the wives of the poets are having the last

words.