Rodeo, by Joseph Mills


A student smacks the book on to his desk,
looks around, and says, “I hate poetry.”
Several nod, thrilled to have someone voice
what they feel. It’s not yet a mob, but if
Poetry were coaxed into an alley
I bet some of them would follow to help
beat the hell out of it. So, I ask, “Why?
What has it ever done to you? Come on
to your sister? Welch on a loan? Promise
it could help you lose weight or get a job?”
Most start to laugh, not recognizing, I,
like a rodeo clown, have drawn away
the mad bull’s attention, so Poetry
can scramble between the rails to safety.

by Joseph Mills

Write. Talk. Tell me everything.

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