by Christos Polydorou
A poem can be everything,
not just a pretty lovely flower,
dainty, adorable, that which can be personified,
In this case a poem is a cold cut slicer,
like one in a deli,
give me some mortadella, fella,
I’ll take some pastrami, honey,
a bit of cheddar, lover,
some cheese, swiss, miss.
And the universe is getting
its skin cut off by some poet
who makes millions – no, billions,
trillions are the readers of poetry –
regard a single thing.