Now it is down to six,
or rather
we are seven:
six poets and one bachelorette.
She is the one for me
because I can feel
what she is thinking.
I don’t like seeing you
with other poets,
behind the candelabra.
I am here for the right reasons;
those reasons include
Greek mythology
and maybe opium.
We are in France.
Stupid France.
When I push her
against the yew
tree her chemical-
straightened hair
falls
like lines
composed.
She belongs to me.
As I wait for my date I muse
for my muse, amusing.
I could be the poet
that breaks your heart,
my hands warm and capable.
This is the last week of dating
before hometowns. I take going
into a poet’s Cumbrian cottage,
prison cell, or Hampstead flat
very seriously. She is the classiest
of the classy! If I get a rose,
I can bring her home to meet
my family, i.e. my wife, sister,
my best friend’s wife’s sister, etc.
More than anything, I want a one-
on-one date this week, ideally
with some fell walking.
The date card says “Shelley”
and I’m all “which one”
and everyone’s all “P. B.”
and I’m like “awesome!”
It’s important to me
to really figure out
what is the future.
I’ve been journaling
a little bit: it’s all about you,
my muse. I was going to leave, actually,
because I’ve never felt this way so soon
or in general. It’s scary.
I look at you and see the snow
no one beholds. You can’t see
the snow but I look at it.
He’s so romantic! This is the first day
that feels like a real ode. I feel it
when I’m with her.
If I met your mom,
what would she ask me?
Things like, if you were a planet,
what planet would you be?
This is a man! This is a total-package
man in front of me. Date card!
I’m not sure Coleridge is here
for the right reasons. Everyone else
is putting their emotions
out there and being
vulnerable,
and I want that
from Byron. By now
you are asking
who is the sixth poet
but we can’t tell you,
we’re protecting ourselves
from the tabloids. But we are seven:
the bachelorette, Wordsworth, Coleridge,
Byron, Shelley, Keats, and the sixth
poet, let’s call him Stan,
let’s call him Abraham.
Let’s call him you. It’s you.