The Age of Poetry

The writing of poetry should come with age restrictions.
Allow those with the chubby fingers
and cherubic cheeks
to write Haikus about dogs and birds
and acrostic verses that trace their love of space
to the A-astronaut of their first names.
Allow those with hands spotted by time
to pick up pens and give rhyme to
the paths that have worn the creases
around their smiles and blurry eyes
in sonnets that recount old loves,
the weight of a ripe tomato plucked off the vine,
or the fat, dark circle of a tear drop
on light blue polyester pants.
Even allow those in their twenties,
thirties, and forties
to write free verse detailing the curtain of hair
fanning across their wives’ pillows,
the rare findings of a crowded subway car
at two A.M. on a Tuesday morning,
or an ode to the college professor
with ivy-long ear hair,
coffee and spearmint breath
and a contagious passion for Fitzgerald.
But to the teens, we should prohibit the writing of verse.
Deny lines that begin with “I feel” and “I hope”
and make the use of
"blood", "betrayal", "agony" and "pain"
punishable by death
or community service.
We should force teens to write fiction
of adolescents in love
and coming to an understanding
with their misunderstood parents.
To write dramas about friendship
that defies all odds,
or at least lasts beyond first hour science.
Or, if they must write poetry,
we should limit their writing to Haikus
about dogs and birds.
Or acrostic poems that restrict their love of goth
to the G-grave of their first names.