Copy This Poem
Take this poem
and copy it
and send it to everyone you know,
For I want it to live.
I want it to continue to exist long after the world has changed.
I want it to be studied in English 101 classes,
Collected in family treasuries,
And read on cold, rainy days
in Bed and Breakfasts.
The great performance of the Tenor
begins to decay from memory
the moment that the last note is sung.
The colors of great painting fade
and the paint begins to crack after a decade.
Even the marble sculpture becomes caked with pollution
and crumbles over the centuries,
But this poem can live indefinitely
in pristine form
if stolen, recreated,
and read often.
Note: This poem may be copied, read, transmitted, performed, sung, and distributed as desired. If sold, no copyright may be assigned.
Sheffler’s Inn
I sit in the isolated room,
Silent except for the air conditioner
Blasting from the closet,
Fighting a futile battle.
My bicycle leans against the wall,
my gloves drapped over the handlebars
soaked in salt and suntan lotion.
As the long, hot day finally ends
I push open the sticky door.
I hear voices and see bright lights
Which I follow.
I cross the highway and some tracks,
Entering a small park where
A softball game is ending.
I stay to watch,
But feel the stares of the crowd.
“You don’t belong here.”
I leave by the highway
The next morning before sunrise
and am not missed.
