A.D. Winans: the poetry game

THE POETRY GAME

When I was publishing

Second Coming
I would get telephone calls
From poets late into the night

Some of the callers

Had high pitched voices
Some so shrill
I could barely make out
A word they said

Some wanted me to publish them

Some were angry because
I hadn’t published them

Some were willing to barter

Promising me a reading alongside
A prominent poet
At a local or international
Poetry reading

Some female poets were willing
To share my bed

For a nigh or two
All for publishing a single poem

These poets all had

One thing in common
They didn’t place much value
On themselves

They complained

The grants were rigged
They blamed the establishment
They blamed other poets
They blamed the fates
Not one of them blamed themselves

Most of them never worked

A blue-collar job
Seeing poetry as a Holy thing
Too Holy to get dirt under
Their fingernails

If these poets
Had spent half as much time
Writing as they spent complaining
They might have published
A solid poem or two

I never published these poets
And with the passing of time
I’d see their names in print
In this magazine or that magazine
And not long afterwards
I’d see the name of the editors
Appear in a magazine or anthology
Edited by one of these very same poet

Many long years have passed since
My publishing days
But I notice the game has not changed
Only he names of the players

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