I Dont Like Poetry

I mean, long Victorian verses pining for a pure lover who never scratches her own ass. The bronzed paeans to those who died in war or a meaningless cause. Or the inscribed moans of the armature bard holding a petunia. I hate it. BUT “If music be the food of love, play on.” OK, OK. I love Shakespeare. But he is Shakespeare. And then I always had a thing for Viola. And the Tower of Song. Lennie can and does bring tears to my eyes. Or “45 years from now” the vaulting words of Stan Rogers. Gone too soon. “I wish I were in Sherbrooke now.” So maybe I do like poetry. Some poetry. But I don’t like my poetry. That’s for sure. So there.