| Subject: Joe and the Pulitzer Prize Poet |
Author:
Emily
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Date Posted: 12:21:03 05/09/07 Wed
As I type this, Joe is nervously driving Charles Simic (pulitzer prize poet) in our car from the airport to Athens. Here is my contemporary poem about it:
You should have seen us cleaning the car,
vacuuming,
wiping,
taking out Ruby's car seat,
crumbs and trash everywhere--gone!
We sudsed-up the windshield
bird poop,
smooshed insects,
dirt--
gone!
Ruby sits in her lawn chair
"Daddy going to work!
Daddy wash the car!
All clean!"
As if Charles wouldn't detect
the broken passenger door handle
(for which Joe will either clumsily
lean over the revered Simic to jiggle open,
or awkwardly hop out of the car
run around and open from the outside
like a formal date or chauffeur,
"We have arrived, Mr. Simic.
The servants will take care of your belongings.")
Or the giant dent in the passenger side
from that parkinglot accident last week,
making conversation difficult
to hear over the rushing wind
and uneven highway
thump! thump! thump!
outside that door gap.
Conversation that Joe will be nervously
thinking over and over and over in his mind.
"Mr. Simic"?
"Charles Simic"?
"Charlie"?
"Dr. Simic"?
"What shall I call you?"
"Mr. Pulitzer Prize"?
"Oh, Great One, Poet of Poets, Master of Words"
The fantasy of a ride with Charles Simic:
"So, do you write poetry?"
"Well, a little. I'm trying to focus on fiction."
"I'd love to see some of your poetry."
"I have some in my glovebox right here."
"This is real talent! Son, you are wasting your time at the University. I'm sending this on to my agent."
"Thanks, Mr. Simic. It means a lot."
Just treat him like a regular guy,
right? Like any regular guy
who has been awarded the Pulitzer Prize.
http://www.english.ohiou.edu/litfest/
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