The Fieldstone Review

enough

“thin sun”
she liked that.
what else did I say to her,
that I “just can’t understand the ability to become something.”
this was my poetry teacher.
this was a poetry class.
ten of us
mostly women
from Chapters.
and they liked mine best
and like Charles Bukowski
I wrote a poem about Bukowski
and they liked that one best
and I longed to remember why I started to drink alone, but
no
I ate it up; the poetry class loved it,
the poetry class loved me.
the attention,
later I sent her an e-mail
saying how much i liked
it
and her.
and after, always,
the red
and green lights
led me home.