No postage required,
free gift unlikely, certainly
some people think they serve
no purpose but I had a dog once
got great joy ripping them
from magazines, shredding
them into tiny white-black hills
near the fireplace.
Those journals read a lot better
without the triple-edged intrusion
of those hopeful cardboard invites?
I mean, did some editor think
my guests would be so impressed
they’d rip em out
and fill in their identity
the minute they returned
home or that copies
of those obscure reviews
were going to end up
in waiting rooms
where the public would decide
the poetry life
was what was missing
in their meager existence?
how else should they imbue the world with a desire for the poetry life?