The Reading

I’m reading my poem about the deer aloud.

I’m reading my poem about the deer aloud, but I can’t see the words.

I’m taking out my glasses, so I can read my poem about the deer aloud.

A child offers to read my poem about the deer for me.

No, I’m too proud to let a child read my poem about the deer for me.

My glasses on, I still can’t read my poem about the deer.

 Even with my glasses on the words of my poem tangle up, slip off the page.

It is confounding not to be able to read my poem about the deer aloud.

The audience is waiting to hear my poem about the deer.

And finally, I can see the words — but the words are wrong.

This is a poem about seeing two deer in Quogue, I say.

I read the title again, at least I can read that.

At least that is correct.

But everything else about my poem about the deer is wrong.

I printed this poem on posters. So many copies that I’ll have to discard.

Why can’t I get this one poem about two deer right?

I thought this poem was finished, but clearly it is not.

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2 Comments

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2 responses to “The Reading

  1. deer are so fleeting,
    as are dreams,
    so hard to catch them and see what they say.

    Surely there’s much in your dream about the deer, that is what is so elusive and intriguing about it.
    I love also the ‘primitive’ nature of the image, the deer who were here long before we came and tore down their forests.

  2. Yes, and of course my name means deer, so the intrigue gets even more intriguing 🙂

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