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Bemildred*
My poem, "Night Train: Heading West," is going to be in The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror XIX.
My bemildredment is small and personal and has to do with the fact that I'm not a poet and I know I'm not a poet. This is the only poem I've written in ages and ages (practically since the Second Punic War), and I doubt--but of course cannot discount the possibility completely--I'll ever write another one.
It is not a complaining bemildredment, mind you. Nor is it a wtf are they thinking? bemildredment. Just ... not what I expected somehow. Life is odd.
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*iirc the name of the third bat in Pogo--either that or my post-con-crud is giving me delusions.
My bemildredment is small and personal and has to do with the fact that I'm not a poet and I know I'm not a poet. This is the only poem I've written in ages and ages (practically since the Second Punic War), and I doubt--but of course cannot discount the possibility completely--I'll ever write another one.
It is not a complaining bemildredment, mind you. Nor is it a wtf are they thinking? bemildredment. Just ... not what I expected somehow. Life is odd.
---
*iirc the name of the third bat in Pogo--either that or my post-con-crud is giving me delusions.
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The poem itself comes from taking the train to Minneapolis.