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Extroverted Poem for Flannery O'Connor to Sing

by Eric Hinkle

To rid myself of excess nonsense,
I scribbly spout out poetry
and hope that I don't fail me.
The opposite wish is always granted,
by a bastard genie with a
faux-gold chain and blue tights.

And they say wisdom comes naturally
to a poet
but mine's always lost in the mail:
“undeliverable”
“addressee dislocated”
“return to blender.”

I have a problem focusing.
To discipline myself,
I only apply chapstick
with chopsticks
(in front of a mirror).
The image is so grotesque that
I'm wide awake for scores on end.

It shouldn't surprise you that I
was nominated Poet Laureate
in 1986
because, in my first breathing hour,
I rhymed “orange”
with “door hinge,”
wearing a know-it-all grin
and Super Grover diapers.
I humbly declined the honor.

It was all downhill from there,
fellers:
now I'm an English major.
Let me modestly modify
that pronoun for you.

10/16/2011

Posted on 10/16/2011
Copyright © 2021 Eric Hinkle

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