what poetry is

a blue heron turns to my whistle,
i'm not sure he sees me moving
down in my darkening boat
but i know what poetry is

the night is warm,
the radio is playing, 
i've made tea to ease this headache
from the beer this afternoon
and the lousy food; i should know 
better, but i know what poetry is

i saw my doctor today, 
she took up the visit gladly, 
talking and probing, then showed 
me her smaller office, the drawers 
banging into each other now, 
and i knew she knew what poetry is



© Copyright 2001Peter Chapman

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