It�s there.
I�ve finally made it.
My poetry book
is on someone�s bookshelf.
It amazes me
someone would hold
is so dear.
It�s between 2
Real books.
One by Hemingway
the other
by Twain.
What an honor.
I feel a slight
pride.
Every other copy of
that book.
Is holding up
some coffee table
straight.
To keep it from
wobbling.
Take that you
asses.
Who say my
poems suck.
My book�s
in a damn
shelf.
And you
are not.