He wanted to write a poem about eternity,
I told him I did not think it was wise,
For one thing he would not be able to make good on his promise,
Poets who end lines with words like “Forever” and “Infinitude” are often the most unfaithful,
Cheap salesmen who offer the universe in a box,
Trapped between three lines of free-verse,
Or rhyme,
It doesn’t matter,
Some of the most inscrutable prostitutes clothe themselves in the reputable colors of rhyme,
But you can always spot them,
Just look at their shoes.
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