the poet
Nokyoung Xayasane

I ate some cheesecake
and woke up from my midday nap.
Life
this is where you’ve led me.
I remember one time
I was introduced to someone.
I told them
I worked in publishing,
in marketing.
She’s a poet,
the person said,
as if to validate my existence.
A poet?
Yes.
But validating?
No.

How about a school teacher,
or a welder.
At least one is moulding minds,
and another is moulding steel.

What could be more foolish
and romantic and useless
than a poet.
A feeble body and a vibrant mind.
What are the uses of these
metaphors and images
if not to build something up
only to tear it down.

A poet.
Nah, I work in publishing.