Roses are red, 1 wannabe poet laureate is blue

Michelle Lawrence sent me an e-mail this week informing me that she had just been named Arizona’s unofficial poet laureate. Well, this was news to me. First, I didn’t know states had their own poet laureates.

Second, I don’t remember reading any “Poet Laureate Wanted” ad in the classifieds. And, finally, I’m not sure exactly what a poet laureate does.

Lawrence, 29, moved to Tempe from Wisconsin in November. She has been writing poetry for years, she said. There are a lot of Web sites devoted to poetry, and that’s how she got wind of the poet laureate opening.

A Web site called Burning Hearts Revolution held a contest to select the poet laureates for the handful of states that have somehow managed to struggle along without the benefits of poetry.

Lawrence sent in a poem from her collection and learned just this week that she had been chosen as the state’s unofficial poet laureate for 2007.

She was also told that Gov. Janet Napolitano would be getting a letter encouraging her to recognize Lawrence’s claim to the position as the “state poet.”

Fat chance, I figure. I mean, when was the last time something crossed the governor’s desk without getting clobbered with that big red “VETO” stamp?

Still, I can’t bring myself to be a good sport about this. I would like to have thrown my hat into the ring because, deep down, I have the sensitivity of a poet — especially the kind of poet who writes dirty limericks. Also, I think “poet laureate” would be a really cool thing to have on my business card. I bet I could get lots of dates with that.

Now? Well, it’s just me and the cat sitting at home on Saturday night watching the Law & Order reruns. And it’s not even my cat. Pitiful, huh?

So, as poets are inclined to do, I have decided to express my profound grief through verse:

Ode to a Laureate

It’s a great distinction to be known,

As Arizona’s poet laureate.

But who could guess you get that post,

By a contest on the Internet?

Michelle Lawrence won the prize,

And a case of cold Corona,

When the guy who runs the Web site said, “You get the job in Arizona!”

Now this Tempe woman, I am sure, Has skills of great degree, But if I’d known it was up for grabs, I would have said, “Pick me!”

But a contest never entered, Is one you cannot win. Since she’s the poet for a year, I’ll have to wait ’til then.

That a Lawrence holds the title, In some respects, is swell. But, alas, it isn’t old “D.H.” This one is named Michelle.

Her biggest flaw, at least to me? She moved here in November. So it’s not so much what she doesn’t know, It’s what she can’t remember.

For a poet ought to know her place, Before she dares to speak. ‘Cause a reference to the road less traveled, Sure ain’t in Queen Creek!

Yes, many things she ought to know, To avoid the clever trap. Like where else but Tempe could you find, A cop who just can’t beat the “rap?”

Perhaps this sounds like sour grapes, Perhaps you don’t agree. But if Arizona has a laureate, I think it should be me.