METAPOETICS IV/VI
by Will de Kypia




The Night I Met
The Renegade Muse

Dear Walter Francis Smitherick
Preferred VIP Lifetime Gold Tier
Fan Club Member PVLGT47512,

I trust that this brief recollection of
a very significant episode in my evolution
as a poet will be of considerable interest
to you and to other loyal Smithereens.
~
I saw her when I stepped into
a dingy dive bar while making my
usual rounds one rainy Friday night.

She was sitting alone, nursing a fizzy
drink with a bright red cherry in it,
flaunting her perky pentameters.

Since my efforts to compose poetry
had all been abysmal failures I
approached her despairingly.

,,,“I have always wanted—”
,,I started to say.

“Everyone wants!”
she snarked back.

“But I am unable to—”

“Your want lacks talent.”

“If you'd let me feel your—”

“In your wet dreams, wannabe.”

“Of course I'm aware that a modest
honorarium is customarily provided—”

“Dinner and drinks will earn you the right
to unzip my toga and ogle my pentameters.
For lobster and champagne you may fondle.”

“Plus a Polaroid to show that we actually—”

“OK, you can throw in dessert though the
picture will not be of archival quality.

Chemical changes cause the colors
to shift and to fade. The emulsion
dries out, cracks, and flakes off.

Soon little will remain from our
casual encounter except your
puerile narcissist fantasies.”

“I cherish mementos and
I believe that the patina of
age enhances the esthetic—”

“You don't know the difference
between the patina of age
and a bent, rusty nail.”

“I know nothing at all about
nails, bent or unbent. I plan to
be a poet, not a carpenter.

I will listen to the stones, listen
to the clouds, and listen to my soul,
then write words of purest fire.”



“You'll never be a real poet, just
a pitiful plagiarist who steals lines
and images from the real ones.”

“You'll never return to Parnassus
because after your recent trip there
you're a lady bound for Hades.”

“I'm getting hungry,
we should eat.”

“I'm getting thirsty,
we should drink.”
~ ~
It was a dark and stormy night
when the Muse and I supped together,
sharing much more than the meal.

We two were as one that night,
on that extraordinary night.

Somehow she felt pity for
me, chose to assist this mortal
as he scuffled through life.

She became not my mentor
but my libertine liberator.

Where there was despair
she taught self-interest.

Where there was hatred
she sowed indifference.

Where there was doubt
she planted arrogance.

Where thick darkness reigned
we guiltlessly revelled in sin.

Our tryst was the event that
put me on the long and winding road
to becoming the man I am today:

An extraordinarily successful poet with
well over a million followers on the internet,
a few poems he considers his alone, and
the wisdom to know the difference.

I shall forever be grateful to the
Muse for providing her insight that night,
the night I grimly accepted my fate.

We are not born into eternal life when
we die so I'd rather be a whore who resides
in Hiltons than a glib gregarious Milton.

I seek not to be admired but aped.
May you too enjoy epicurean sensuality
with a tranquil, stoical resignation...
Walter Francis Smitherick...
PS She had the lobster, I nibbled brisket,
we both drank a whole lot of champagne.

She also got a taste
of crème fraîche.
_______________________________

🦞___🥂