Is there a poet in your hallway,
gathering dust?
Brush him off and send him home.
By all means apologise to him,
if you wish.
He does not mind either way.
While standing there,
neglected,
he has composed a thousand poems
about dust and hallways;
but perhaps the change of influence
will do him good.
There is an artist outside
on the garden path.
He does not speak,
nor wish to enter.
One day, he will piss on your doorstep
and turn to leave.
You must stop him then
and ask him to sign his name
in the snow.
Your garden will be worth a fortune,
until Spring;
but what sort of flowers will grow?
