In the late night darkness
William Carlos Williams
delivered a baby;
this morning I heard Pound
rant on the radio;
I had lunch with HD,
(notoriously easy)
but didn't get lucky;
later, Wallace Stevens
penned beauty on the back
of a voided insurance policy;
as the day ended, Eliot
closed up the bank office
put on his bowler and left.
In the world of poetry
these are not people who were,
they remain people who are.
- mce
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