It sits on my nightstand
silently mocking me
"Postmodern American Poetry"
with its picture of George Washington
given an Andy Warhol treatment
on the cover
I search for a short poem
that won't overwhelm me
but every writing here
appears needlessly long
I turn page after page after page
just trying to find the starting point
of the next poem
I find a quiet place
and I begin to read the first poem slowly
making sure not to continue
until the current idea is understood
my gaze is fixed
I can hear the words in my mind
and I'm trying so hard to understand
that I've lost my place
I begin again
and realize I don't know
if I know
the proper meaning of the word
"thicket"
so I stop and get my dictionary
and realize I knew exactly what it means
but
now, what did the poet mean?
I forge ahead
and read every word
I read it again
the words
colorful and distinct
bounce off my head
like rubber balls
off a slab of concrete
defeated
I return the book to its place
you've won this round
you insufferable bastard
and I reach for
my spiral bound notebook
and mechanical pencil
and attempt to even the score.