I don’t stand up for poetry
I don’t leap to my feet
after a live poetry feature,
slapping my palms together
in wild applause then raising
my hands at the roof and shouting
I don’t wolf-whistle but if I did
I would not wolf-whistle for poetry
I might clap silently if the poetry
be virtual on Zoom, those clapping
hands visible in my video box
even if I didn’t love the poems
when I do, when I really do
love the poems I might just sit
grinning like an idiot
or moon, a lovestruck fool
knocked out by another one-two
combination of precise sound
and deep truth
right in the kisser!
I would never pull a ring off any finger,
rush the stage and place the ring up there
although I might wait quite a while
at a back door, hoping the poet will appear
