a poem about mozart and poplars

The cat investigates the phonograph
She can’t decide if she likes Mozart
Sniffs at the rotating record

I am reading Kenneth Rexroth
And marveling at his detail
He remembers everything that happens
At his imaginary parties
And like most poets
Talks of poplars

there was a period of time
When all my friends wrote
About poplars
I would say
“You live in Texas.
There aren’t any fucking poplars here.”
But they thought it sounded literary
And indeed it is the most literary tree

I shoo the cat away from the phonograph
She meows in disapproval
I tell her she can deal with it

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