Ah, why not?

at some point
nearly every poet
arrives
at yadda yaddda yadda
etc
nothing left to say

so long in
so self-concious
so self-referential
a medium

it doesn’t seem worth it
especially if the price
is fraternity
with other
self-conscious
self-referential
poets

poetry is then simply packed up
and put away

unless it’s Saturday afternoon
and hazy
garage-cleaning weather

poetry furtively unpacked
so he
can write about writing
and poets

self-indulgent
to see if he still can
indulge

(for ex-poets are
all-in-all
a bitter and nostalgic lot)

Two things I know about kids

Haven't posted for a while and I've got a minute while the girlie is in time-out in her room.

1) Nobody, and I mean nobody, has a perfect child.

2) If your child is doing a "perfect child" impression, they're probably at someone else's house.

I believe a correlate to the underlying logic here is that other kids' toys and other peoples' kids are more fun.