Poet Laureate, O’Please!

Where are the reviews
The accolades
Applause

Why isn’t O’Bama
Calling me
For the slot of
Poet Laureate

Who is Elizabeth Alexander
Anyway?
Oh yeah, Professor at Yale
Pulitzer Prize nominee
No matter

Where does one apply?

It’s the perfect job for me
I’m sure I’m not alone
In this idea

Do me a favor
Write in my name
Assure O’Bama
Such a fine Irish name

I’m the man for the job

In times
Of economic strife
I believe the world
Wants to embrace

Depression
Anger
Running
Sadness
Insanity
Coffee and
Cigarettes

No?

Perhaps I’m wrong…
Wrong?
In my self-centered idea
The travesty of life
My questionable abilities

That the world
Needs my words?

But I
Need my words
Regardless
Of who reads them
Taking me deep within
The quiet of my mind

A small reprieve
From the cacophony of noise
Moving mouths
Vacant words
Anything but the truth

He slept underneath
A bridge
Reeking of yesterdays
Booze

I asked him to support me
To write in my name
For Poet Laureate

He stared at me
Eyes questioning
His old army jacket stained
With life

He began to speak
But lost his train of thought
Hands shaking
Heart broken
Eyes clouded over
With sadness

He focused on me again
Slowly
A toothless mouth
Forming words

“Can I bum a smoke?”

Ah, finally
The truth