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May 28th

There is this damn reader

who keeps on jotting down notes
in the book of Billy Collins poetry
that I am reading.

"Slow down, take your time?"
"The importance of books, knowledge."

I wish that I could find
this insightful little twerp
and snap in half that
finely sharpened pencil of his,
or perhaps write on him with it:

"Desperate to comprehend - 'understand' "

But suppose he began reading
this poem and left it completely blank,
untouched, nothing underlined,
no arrows or notes, not one single
misguided comment to clutter up
the margins with - Ha! just like him
to disregard my work like that!

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The First Poem

"I've been avoiding you all day, you know."
The poem gives me a look
as if to say, "so have I."

It hasn't made it any easier in the end,
so I distract myself by watching a hawk
that has just landed on the rooftop
next to mine. He's sizing me up, too.
The hawk, not the poem.
He seems disturbed,
as if this is his row of rooftops
and I have no business being here
in the late afternoon. Especially
being dressed as I am,
in sweatpants and a pajama shirt.
Most uncivilized, he seems to say
as he flies away on the snobby
tips of his wings, his majestic
feathers fluttering in the cool breeze.

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