A younger poet wrote to ask
an older for a blurb.
The older poet said Perhaps,
which meant Do Not Disturb

But when the older poet saw
a photo of the lad,
the older man dipped his pen
and wrote that he'd be glad

to offer up the richest praise:
If Bishop wed Magritte,
these villanelles would be their spawn.
And maybe they should meet.

The younger poet cleaned his room.
He wore his tightest shirt:
when he fawned, he squeezed his arms,
his flex a sort of flirt.

They drank. The day went dark, then dead
And love's the burning boy,
the older said, sliding a hand
up the comer's toy.











From Poetry Magazine, Vol. 186, no. 4, July/August 2005. Used with permission.