Crossing the Bridge
Young and hopeful, I asked: What do you think of this poem? Maybe he would like it. Maybe he would at least be kind. But he said only this: Consider euthanasia. I stood disbelieving as a freeze crept over my brain. I took my poem back. There was nothing to do but leave. Sitting alone later, I found a welcoming pathway. It led to a mind bridge to the solace that comes from wit. Crossing over the bridge I found a visual garden. * * * Give it too many pills and watch the poem nod away. Shoot it full in the head and watch the words splatter the wall. Hang it by its title and watch it jerk till it was still. Slit its wrists with a blade and watch its images seep out. Drive it into a tree and watch all the verses crumple. * * * Playing in the garden, I could laugh and go far away. Then the meanness faded, letting my pen write once again. Harry W. Yeatts Jr. |