NATIONAL POETRY MONTH
April is tax month, the month you take off your snow
Tires, the month moths rediscover your windows.
It was the cruelest month for Eliot, but he lived in England.
Night in the rain the salamanders crawl out to be slaughtered,
All of their pink meat road smorgasbord eaten by dawn.
Laughter sounds its most brutal in crows. No,
Poetry isn’t a hymnal
Or a wish list for the soul. It’s definitely not the
Eggs hidden by the Easter Bunny. But it is a legitimate
Tax deduction, a money-losing pursuit the I
RS doesn’t question. Poor poetry:
Yesterday’s news still hoping to be relevant for tomorrow.
Math, now that’s worth teaching the whole year, even remotely
On-line. Algorithms, that’s where today’s genius lies.
Nobody will condemn you for poetry, but
To let it go on for more than a month,
Hey, that’s a little bit of insanity.
April 26, 2015
Will Nixon: “This acrostic poem was inspired by end of April’s promotion.” (website)