A few months ago, I read this poem on The Flyfish Journal’s Tailgate blog. And for one reason or another, it did it for me. Even though I’m not a dude, I’ve never snuck out of a wedding to swing a line, and I probably wasn’t part of this piece’s intended audience, it resonated. I found myself rereading the stanzas, passing the link to friends, and thinking about why, in general, when poetry usually fails for me this little poem worked.

What I came up with is this one is a story, and I am, and always have been a sucker for a story. I don’t want simple scenes, pretty as they may be, or one emotion, even if it rages. Even though I may languish in the language, at the end of the day I want a story. Something to take with me under the covers. I talisman against ennui. A tight little moment of action and character that bound together makes a world.

I’ve been reading more poetry of late, and while much of it falls flat, here and there I’m finding the unexpected. It makes me hope that traditional, non-literary-journal-type-media follow the lead of The FlyFish Journal in publishing bits of poetry. Not everyday and not all the time, but sometimes and with passion.

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