an old poem

Laughter

Reading poetry, the words so carefully

aligned and placed,

I can't help but feel the poets

hysterical over the jokes they've played.

To gain and graps the attention of thousands,

perhaps even more,

with the description of a though, a mood,

a dirty scene.

Certainaly they are all laughing

at me, and at you, as we

pry and prod for thoughts now past.

Can't you see the joke?

These thoughts, that perhaps mean nothing,

are past.

Why do you care how T.S. Elliot

metered his life?

Or that nobody was Emily D.

The tee-hee's invade every syllable, every word,

and resonate into a smile of my own.

I wrote that a long time ago.