People like to file
Their poetry
Even when it’s terrible
Because they know how they felt
When those awful words poured from them

And if you found their poetry
In a battered filing cabinet
Long after they left it
Unwittingly abandoned
Absentmindedly forgotten

If you could find and ask them
Without emotion or condescension
Without the hint of derision or judgment
Neutral, calm, detached
What should I do with this?

More times than not
They would reply without hesitation
Throw it away
Throw it all away

It was something for them to save
But nothing for you to keep
Or even see