I have been writing light verse all my life (assuming one’s life doesn’t include junior high school, elementary school and the wet diaper stage (oh, not that again!) ). I sent out a lot of light verse and when it all came back I tried my hand at free verse. I like writing bio notes my favorite being “Edmund Conti lives in Summit, NJ and divides his time between day and night.” Can’t use that anymore—I moved to Raleigh, NC. I’ve had over 500 poems published (Google “Edmund Conti” and see what comes up.)
Me and Billy Collins
The sun, low on the horizon,
is streaming through the window.
The northeast is suffering one
of its worst cold spells in years.
(They always say that, these
meteorologists with short memories.)
I’m cozy here and warm, the iMac
purring away, iTunes bringing me
Rosemary Clooney, her voice mellow,
years away from “Come On A My
House.” I am trying to write a poem.
And I’m thinking of Billy Collins.
What would he make of my
little corner of the world.
Would he make more of it
If I had a small crate of oranges
nearby? Or a book on Stalin…
Billy—can I call you that, Mr. Collins?—
And you can call me…What?
Eddie? Ed? Edmund? Edward?
(I get a lot of that.) Tell you what--
call me Conti and I’ll call you Collins.
Just imagine, if I were a little younger
I would have sat behind you in grammar school.
We could have passed notes. In verse!
We could have bonded and—who knows—
I could have been the famous poet now.
And you? You could be writing this poem.
© 2017 Edmund Conti
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