Compliance

“Before John L’Heureux can become
a poet, I feel he must be born again.”
Morse Allen in a book review.

I died last night,
Was born again this morning
Poet.
Six A.M. and there I was
Singing with a cuckoo’s voice
An Easter antiphon.

Everyone came running
From the bathroom not to miss
Rebirth.
(We rarely see a miracle
And even faith can profit by
A little oomph.)

A cuckoo sings,
They said, where only yesterday
L’Heureux
Flapped his clumsy wings
In ribald limericks. They left
To shave and marvel.

Song all day. Already
They and I are tired of me
Poet.
Tonight I hope to die once
More — and resurrect again:
This time, real.