.. .. ..

Dear Billy Collins,

Our meeting last night was quite unexpected.
My last-minute drive to find Yo Yo Ma.
And all those red lights.
That inexperienced sales clerk insisting on things.
Discovering C's voice but leaving him there.
That's when I bumped into you.
And although pre-resolved-not-to-like-you, I listened.
You. Flying ideas like kites in small spaces.
Your "Canada" not really Canadian.
But somehow 'okay'.

It reminded me of when I was little.
My brother's ruthless invasions.
His invincible timing.
Launching nonsensicalities
aimed at my invisible force field of anger.
My cloaking device. And while I was busy,
stretching it out and snapping it back,
his tyranical verbiage,
his laughter-extracting grenades that disarmed.
Determined to remove my impossibilities,
to show how anger can not be contained
while simultaneously exploding the air from one's lungs.
With breathless reluctance, I always surrendered.
This made me mad (again).
But always too late to remember the point.

You are comparable.
Your unexpected spill of inanities mess up my misery.
"Purity" indeed. Stop stealing my madness,
quit making me laugh.
And don't expect me to call your work "poetry".
Although you've arranged them in short little rows
with titles on top, anything funny will never be famous.

For a moment, the room fills back up
with the hum of soft conversations
and coffee, spoons clinking in cups.
Until I notice that someone is watching.
The room shrinks to the size of his long armchair stare.
As long as I smile (at your words), he thinks I am flirting.
But since there is someone I'd rather see,
and if I had my computer in-hand,
I would paste the other him right over top
and into that chair. With old doors and Cairo.
Then I could smile at more than your words.

This moment passes.

Later,
I return to my sources.
D & G, Vico, Neruda, Genet.
Perhaps letting Basho in, too.
But you, Billy Collins, have changed me a little.
Like my brother before you,
inspite of reluctance,
unlocking my nebulous self.
And becoming
sincerely more
than just me.