Jon Ballard

Two Poets and a Nun

The Poet Laureate of (pick a state),

An old man in flannel and Levi’s,

Decreed one day the death of poetry

In his time.  His press conference—

Hastily prepared without secretarial

Assistance, held in a church basement 

Where they kept the hard, unholy

Pews—was attended by an off-duty

Nun thinking seriously of lesbianism 

And a young poet who’d learned

His trade from the old man

At the podium.  It was so late

The younger poet saw stars out

The basement window, the hang-

Nails of some constellation or other.

He could hear the nun posing

Questions like, “So you think love

Poems are a waste of time?” But

The answers, when they came,

Seemed scripted, and the dank

Walls began to resemble a cavern

Of middle earth, while the stars dimmed

To dust before the young poet’s eyes

At the cruelty of the proceedings.