0095 The Title Of This Poem Comes At The End Poem by Michael Shepherd

If you’ve read
136 poems
by one poet
in, uh, an hour plus,
which is a stupid thing to do
normally
to any poet
and insulting
if you think that way

at least when you do this
you get an aftertaste
of a sort – you get
tired beyond boredom, or
the guy has only three things to say
again and again or
he’s posing as a poet or
subtly unloading his negativity
or his hatred for life or
exploiting your emotions or
even more subtly pleading
for your sympathy

but no
I don’t feel any of these things right now
I just feel
a huge huge love which
somehow isn’t
just focussed on you and
I’ve even tried to set against this
cold lit-crit sorta thoughts
but no

I see you as a man
who looked the ordinary
in the face
and didn’t want to alter it and
asked nothing of it but was
contented in a way
beyond definition that
I can understand
would piss off anyone
with ambition or
so-called American values
although many of your poems
are the stuff of ordinary Americans
in the bar chatting about life
over a beer in B movies

but I’m thinking that maybe
this is the way God sees the world –
‘this is what you’ve made
of what I gave you and
so be it’

I’m a little scared too
that if I met you face to face
unexpectedly with that
wise beat-up face like a
thoughtful ape I might
recoil or something
and be ashamed afterwards
but I hope not

I just hope that
somewhere deep down
you loved yourself
as much as so many people
and you can read them here
love you
for real
and as is

the title of this poem is
A Homage to Charles Bukowski