Gathering of the Radical Poets
Gathering of the Radical Poets for Jared Carter They sit down at the tavern. One of them volunteers to get the first round. He produces the credit card he'll use And everyone takes turns spitting on it. He wipes the card off with a napkin and some water And heads off towards the bar. Another folds another napkin up To jam under one of the legs of the wobbly table But is stopped by the others Because to do so would be to create stability When they’ve made a pact To work always on behalf of chaos. The pints arrive, spilling a little as they’re set down. A basket of peanuts appears, this being The sort of establishment where you’re invited To throw the shells on the floor. This appeals to them, seeing that They like to make a mess. The talk turns inevitably to poetry. One of the younger of the group published a poem recently The others tell him they were able to understand, An offense deserving of mild rebukes. He vows to try harder to be inscrutable. Because the state is so good at making itself understood, The poets have decided to make their poems Ununderstandable. Some time ago one of them declared that, Since capitalism had seeped into and sullied every word, He would cease writing altogether. Now he announces, in a quiet voice, as if ashamed, That he has written a poem. The table wobbles with excitement. Would you like to hear it? he asks. Yes, they insist. Yes, of course. No, he says. What? the others say, thinking He has retracted his offer to share it. That’s the poem, he says. No.