Last night, during the NCAA men's basketball games, I perused The Collected Poems of William Carlos Williams until 1 a.m.. Williams was a medical doctor his entire career, but became known as one of the premier poets in America soon after the turn of the century. His spare poems on daily observations and household items were, for better or worse, his signature, and his poem on the red wheelbarrow glazed with rain, a classic that most people have read.
A few weeks back I received word from the editor of The Red Wheelbarrow magazine (named after Williams's poem) that they would be publishing some of my work, such as it is. I'm no William Carlos, but I write a fair amount of poetry on domestic life. Here's one I wrote a couple of years ago about refrigerator magnets . . . you probably have these, too, and can identify with my observations.
Refrigerator Magnets
Clinging to the stainless steel
Sides of my refrigerator
The magnets congregate, congeal
In herds of calendars, or
Friends who love their photos taken.
And here my wife sticks odd reminders
Of recipes that I'm to bake in
The oven. My children paste rejoinders
To questions I had posed so long ago
My memory has faded, and all
We share are pizza hotlines and so
Many numbers we don't call.
The coupons hang like flat bananas
In bunches long ago expired,
And concert tickets that my son has
Purchased clutch the steel like tired
Chaperons on boring dates.
And on the tiny blackboard, see:
My wife sends love and contemplates
The strength of our polarity.
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