you know, one of these days

I’d like to read some serious poems about tiny, trivial, mildly entertaining or superficially irritating things; anything at all, really besides war, famine, heartbreak, suicide, prejudice, irrationally overwhelming love, death, depression, etc., etc…

I’d like to write a few too.

This is not emblematic of a desire to either read or be like Billy Collins, by the way.

Some potential topics:

— mild boredom
— skin irritations (not chronic and debilitating illness, but, say, like poison ivy)
— bad chili on good hotdogs
— the smell of a Speedstick deodorant on the night breeze
— the pain of watching the clock tick off the last five minutes of the work day
— the Dave Matthews Band

Stuff like that.

Make something small fascinating and you’re truly a poet, I think.