[R. S. Gwynn]

[Revised]

Four Poets Around a Campfire

For Janice Soderling

Said Rod: “Best student that I ever had
And the most beautiful. She wore dark glasses
Even in class. Talk about perfect asses.
But nuts.” Bud added, “Yeah, that’s what’s so sad.
You want someone who loves your poetry,
But then you realize that one who does
Is just as bad as you are.” “Same for me,”
Said Mark. “My third–or was it second?–was
Obsessed that I was making fun of her
When I wrote about a tree or rock. I mean” (he
Spat hard into hot ash) “a fir’s a fir,
Granite is granite.” They grew silent then,
All slugging from tin cups while brooding Ben
Sharpened a knotty stick to stab his weenie.



Four Poets Around a Campfire

For Janice Soderling

Said Rod: “Best student that I ever had
And the most beautiful. She wore dark glasses
Even in class. Talk about perfect asses.
But nuts.” Bud added, “Yeah, that’s what’s so sad.
You want someone who loves your poetry,
But then you realize that one who does
Is just as bad as you are.” “Same for me,”
Said Mark. “My third–or was it second?–was
Obsessed that I was criticizing her
When I wrote about a rock or tree. I mean” (he
Spat hard into hot ash) “a fir’s a fir,
Granite is granite.” They grew silent then,
All staring in tin cups while thoughtful Ben
Struggled to shave a twig to hold his weenie.