the underlined poem

restless and bored,

we sat

in class and waited for the poet

to arrive

and to read

from his latest volume

of poems.

we were bored

with his

telling of his life.

distracted

by the open window

and spring weather,

we were

disinterested

in his trials and tribulations,

the events

that brought him

to write.

he read his poems, one after

another,

and then

there were tears in his

eyes

after one poem

about his child who had died.

suddenly we listened.

i'm looking

at his book now

forty years later,

the same poem underlined