QUARTET: THE FOUR OF US WERE QUARRELING

The Bigamist said, yes, poetry has its use.

It serves at least two amorous ways,

To help some lover grumbling on his bed

Kill time or save it repeating a memorable phrase.

The Sailor said, yes, poetry has its use.

Those who wander far from birth to death

Have many willing guides but none so sure

As the enduring sound of a deadman's breath.

The Cowboy said, yes, poetry has its use.

As good as a gun it puts a town in order,

Establishes peace in the heart's corral

And drives the heart's bandits over the border.

And I, The Poet, I said, yes, poetry has its use.

And I will make it. I will make it plain,

Aspiring to music. Like poets always have,

I will make it from my pleasure and my pain.