POETRY IS DEAD

Poetry is dead

                        He said

Poetry is dead

Poetry is dead in me

Not JUST in me

                        He said

But anywhere and everywhere

                        In black and white and red

Colours shine in brightest grey

                        With flat screen pictures

                        In my head

And all’s the same

                        He said.

Why don’t you come to bed

                        She said

At once he knew                     

   And she did too

That poetry’s not dead