they were right

 
someone once wrote
that a poet has nothing to say
he says it
and that’s poetry




there is one pen on my desk
that means nothing to anyone
but the people I love
 
there were a thousand of them made
for my nephew
when he was 16 and dying
to help buy him a new computer
so he could talk to his friends
from his hospital grave

(they tell you
that a patient's mental state
matters
during treatment
and you tie your hope to that)




we sold all the pens

he got the computer

he died




I don’t know how the pen got to be here at work
except that I bought plenty
but I think of him when I use it
and if I am angry
I'll put it down


sometimes I stand at the fence
and look out over the job
holding that pen

I wrap it in my hand




they were right about poetry