The Well-read Critic

Maybe so much does depend

on a red wheelbarrow

beside the white chickens


but I’d rather not spend an hour discussing it.


If there is beauty in simplicity,

in few

words spoken


why are we talking so much?


Give me

a slow roasted poem

with imagery that falls off the bone, and if

I can taste the decadent emotion of

the words, I’ll give

my compliments to the chef,

whoever they may be.


If you turn up your nose at my favorite dishes


no critic has rated them five stars,

so be it.


Let other people dictate your desires.


Keep debating

what exactly depends on

a red wheelbarrow.


I’ll be eating the chickens.


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