workshop this

for three hundred
and fifty
dollars
you can go down
to the writer's center
for eight consecutive
Saturdays
and have your poetry
read and dissected
by those
that know.
they can tell you
what's wrong
or what is right
with your writing
life, how to use
the knife to cut
and trim, to be on
point. they will
ask about rhyme
and meter, about
metaphors and sound.
you don't think
much of the first
person, do you, they
will say, or punctuation,
or subject matter.
you can't just write
about whatever
crosses your mind,
or tell
stories, another
owl will whisper
from across the round
table of sincere
and anguished poets
in training. it
will be painful, you
imagine.
knitting needles
into your eyes.
and yet, you are tempted.
the instructor
looks sympathetic to
someone of your ilk,
with your plight.
there is something in her
eyes. she is someone
you may write
about on a cold
December night.