I went with Karen and some good friends to the monthly poetry hoot in Portsmouth which is a hot bed of poetry. I read a reworked "World of Lepers" and much to my embarrassment there was a family of lepers at one of the tables. They gave me the finger--literally. I'm kidding of course.
World of Lepers
Who writes about lepers?
Only those who wake up less whole
Lepers check the morning bed
For what fell off in the night
They gather hair from the pillows
And give passionate eulogies for each white strand
You will be missed my thin albino friends, you will be missed
Then, sitting on the edge of the bed
While my feet rest on the lost years crumpled on the floor
I see the first signs of Maine whiteness dying
And Maine greenness coming to life
A respectful quietness grows within me
For the changes on both sides of my bedroom window
As we grow older and younger together
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