Looking for a Reader
Who might I write a poem for?
the man with the Chinese tricycle
hopping aboard its pagoda on Queen St?
the red-head under blankets in the doorway
for a three-dog night (you say,
pointing out his sprawling company)?
the smart young couple buying designer furniture?
the witty sign maker who wrote
“I shop therefore I am” on the door?
Who will choose my book from the shelf
among the indistinct throng of thick and thin
volumes at Type?
Will it be the friendly server at the breakfast spot
who asks, You’ve brought a friend today,
or is it your wife? Or you who answers, Both.
Who will choose my rhythms to walk to
or hear them while the traffic light beeps
stop and go in its alternate cuckoos and cheeps?
For which of you, in crowds cruising the spring sunlight
of Bathurst Street, should I write this poem?
Which of you might stop to listen?
The charming young man cutting my hair says,
I don’t know when I last read a poem. Maybe never!
Who might I write a poem for?
the man with the Chinese tricycle
hopping aboard its pagoda on Queen St?
the red-head under blankets in the doorway
for a three-dog night (you say,
pointing out his sprawling company)?
the smart young couple buying designer furniture?
the witty sign maker who wrote
“I shop therefore I am” on the door?
Who will choose my book from the shelf
among the indistinct throng of thick and thin
volumes at Type?
Will it be the friendly server at the breakfast spot
who asks, You’ve brought a friend today,
or is it your wife? Or you who answers, Both.
Who will choose my rhythms to walk to
or hear them while the traffic light beeps
stop and go in its alternate cuckoos and cheeps?
For which of you, in crowds cruising the spring sunlight
of Bathurst Street, should I write this poem?
Which of you might stop to listen?
The charming young man cutting my hair says,
I don’t know when I last read a poem. Maybe never!