The Poetry Vendor

in the market you sell your
poetry, the ones that you wrote
for a span of
forty years, and it is not selling
no one buys
you advertise, you dance,
you sing to be noticed
this vendor in you
has become too degrading

i must have written the worst ones
those bleeding words
those crying letters
and without any intention of
infecting those who
are dancing on the streets
strolling on the parks
those kissing under the trees
i keep them all in a bundle

bound with a warning: not fit for
your reading.

they better be my own
secrets lest they all offend
this happier world
where you claim
you live in....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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