Why I Am Not A Poet

(thanks, Frank)

I am not a poet, I am a garbage man.
I take what’s been thrown away
To a place where it can decompose,
Some of it, and become a tree

Or a bird again, some new instance
Of itself. I am a clockmaker,
Too, but not a poet, just tinkering
With a meticulous little device

Whose aim is to accord
With what happens.
I'm also a mathematician,
Proving that X is X

Again and again, necessarily
And sufficiently, no matter
What operations are undergone.
I have tried my hand at floristry,

Arrangements of lilies
In milky water… Once,
In some past life, I have a feeling
I was even an embalmer,

Searching endlessly
For the unknown secretion
Or rare plant resin
That would make us last.

Unfortunately, it seems
There is too much simple work
To be any kind of poet,
Whatever that may entail.