Second Thoughts In The Season Of Mists, Etc.

[to my poem with sincere apologies]

oh dear, don't you sometimes feel

when mailing a poem out to some magazine

or contest in the wilderness

all sight unseen

oh no, it forgot its galoshes and

it looks like rain.

or what if it gets on the wrong bus

after school or if it's too short

to reach the bell to be let off.

what if it never comes back?

never mind never mind

you want to say quite loudly

but the postman's already been.

goodbye, little poem.

fare thee well.

next time we'll just stay home

watch old cartoons

or movies on t.v.

or view the drizzle from the porch

of deep antiquities

or flit, like Keatses nightingale;

pure dazzlement-

quicksilverly,

in the trees

mary angela douglas 29 october 2013