I can’t write political poems.
A poem can’t help but be political.
I wake up in the dark morning and take the train to work.
The subway trip to the South Bronx stretches 8.2 miles.
Miles cannot begin to tell a story.
I teach grammar and Shakespeare.
I don’t apologize for “boring.”
I say the Bard invented swagger.
They don’t believe me.
At the end, I wonder –
how does one know when they’re force-feeding?