I was talking to Mr. Cohen and I wrote a little paragraph as kind of a joke. I told him I couldn't write poetry and that I didn't understand it yet. He sent me back the paragraph--only with the lines broken up. It really added umpf. I was amazed. Here is the result.
Fleeting
The little chick
was right--the sky
really is
falling.
And the snow
growing from the grown
ascends
to replace it.
The beautiful white
in loops
declares it time for Christmas
a time of shopping
and uncles drunk on eggnog.
The white
is so peaceful
so serene
so real.
In the name of reality
the little hoodlums run
about town in secret
throwing snow
proclaiming Christmas
The next morning
the cars are driven
by the very men
who stood on their porches
the very night before
and tried to "grinch" Christmas away.
But it cannot be stopped.
Any complaints
or fears
are ignored
and caroled away.
So these old men
relinquishing control
of time
staple on their dimples
for the coming season--
it's no longer up to them.
