He Entered the Poem

He entered the poem
through a long stairway of splintered wood
worn glossy black where heels
long ago chipped away
the white paint and shoes dragged

down to the concrete-
floored basement.

Heavy light dropped bars

of metallic dust.

He would have liked a poem of glass

and plush white carpet,

                                    cantilevered

                        over the Aegean

antiquity perched 

on an island across
a diamond-studded bay.

But the poem he had entered was the only one

      open that day
after a deafening sixth period class and a long 
      walk through
Vermilion Cliffs Trailer Court under the intense 
      Arizona sun,
poverty sweltering like puss.  So he did what 
     only he could do,
which is not much.  He added a stanza

An aquarium of glass water,

silver fishes swimming through soft light.

He almost transcended.

© 2010 by Steve Brown