National Poetry Month

National Poetry Month is just three days from over.  How glad I will be.  It should be called National Poet's Month and make that academic if you would please.  The dullish knife of the work I expect from this crowd. It's the pictures that drive me wild.  All sitting ever so politely around a table or in a row of chairs. Casually dressed in upscale hiking/outdoor clothes. No shit on those shoes.  Good teeth. Not one seems to have ever ridden a wave into hell that's for sure.  And if they did, believe me they did the safety-first research.  A quick how-to wade into hell and not only not get burned but come out the other side with your pension intact!

Dante's second level of hell, if I remember correctly, is reserved for those who do no evil.  Or good.  Filled with metal folding chairs.  All lined up.  Waiting.