Poetry!

I've finally figured out the secret to understanding poetry.

WINE!

Yes, that's it! I get it! See, before, it was like reading some 25-cent words strung together in a crazy pandemonium of grammar. (Ooh, that was good!) But then you have some wine, and all of a sudden, the stuff I was reading in Intro to Creative Writing and Poetry finally makes sense! Son of a bitch...

Except for that Carl Sandburg poem about "Little Cat Feet". Seriously! What the fucking bloody hell is that? God, I hated that poem. It never made any sense to me. I've been drunk many a time and a few of those many have I tried to reason with the poem, praying it would make sense to me.

And, alas (poetry speak, mind you), it a-fucking-lludes me!

I hate that poem.

Hate.

Pissed I had to memorize it.

Pissed it was supposed to make any difference in my life.

Pissed that the only thing I learned from that poem is how I enjoyed the writer using the correct grammar and spelling.

What the bloody hell is "little cat feet"?

Eh, fuck it all!