Dubya headed to Iraq today to get his prostrate exam.
Here he is with Iraqi Doctor La Chingie A-Mami
showing him his results.



With Roethke In Tow

I have known the inexorable sadness of poets,
neat in their schools, the pain of paper,
the misery of the sound they make,

desolate and shy in public places,
brave in a bathroom, confused on the telephone,
hesitant with an overwhelming comma.

They duplicate everybody’s lives
and fill the library with rhymes
dangerous as a Lowell or a Dickinson.

You can’t pick out their faces in crowd
but they’re the ones with the inward look
that nourishes and terrifies at once.