"The Deaths of Some People" by William Taylor Jr.
The thing is the longer you stick around
the more everything turns to ghosts
and I wander the city
dying of everything
and nothing in particular
tired of poets
and the news of the world
with all the headlines telling me
how the deaths of some people
matter more than others
though I guess it's good not having
to decide such things on my own
I'm also tired of people who look good in suits
while taking weekend getaways
to beach towns in Mexico I've never heard of
those with the audacity to have been born
beautiful and of use
and live as if death were some half-witted underling
you could slip a fiver to and send on its way
they're out there right now shopping
attending yoga classes and poetry workshops
doing any number of other things
I've seen on big TVs in little bars while
transcribing loneliness to tattered notebooks
and back home I manage to sweep the kitchen
wash the dishes and take a bath, as these are all endeavors
one is rarely called upon to explain
I consider finding a poetry workshop
in which I might offer up these words
to find out if they're any good
and I remember I don't like poetry workshops
so I just dress them up as best I can
I put them out on the sidewalk
with a few dollars and a paper-bag lunch
if they have what it takes
they'll make it somewhere
if not they'll fall away like
any other ill-born thing
and that'll be the end of it.