written By
this is a poem about poverty
and class.
it is not about
the opening of a flower,
or metaphors
that suggest your life
is a flower
opening,
or astonishment
at nature.
so you will not want
to read it,
and no one will bother
to publish.
but the real
William Carlos Williams
was a radical,
hospitalized for depression
after being investigated
by the F.B.I.
he did not write
only about flowers,
or little wheelbarrows
colored red.
