Reading Raymond Carver, I listen to him plight his impoverished life;
Jesus! Bad enough I listen to myself itch and scratch at my lack of cash.
I guess someone should have told us, “listen pal – when you take
on poetry, insert a V, and spell it poverty.”
Don’t know if that would have worked. For either of us.
Neither of us here too long, it’s the poems we expect to stay.
Our riches will fall from the mouths of those who recite
our miserable songs of unhappiness – and delight.
Peterborough Poets 