Poet’s Wife at a Poetry Reading

Maroon, hard-ass plastic
chairs arranged, in haphazard
semi-circle around The Podium,
discount chardonnay and store-bought
sweets “breathe” on a folding table.

I am not a poet

I do not speak       in soliloquy,
rhyme, metaphor, or simile.

I do not speak       in the static, soft,
sing-song voice that lures

the waking mind       elsewhere. I speak
straight from the heart, that which
makes me angry        elated        heartbroken.

I am not a poet

I don’t paint pictures       with words,
my life is simple, challenging,

normal, chaotic. I am me, yet
in words, there is truth
beauty        love        life

poetry        is me.


This was written by my wife, Annette, who is a badass for a variety of reasons.  We were at a post-Thanksgiving party / poetry reading the other night and she actually got up and read this in front of the group.  Her first reading in front of a group of people.  She was great and that night might’ve been the highlight of 2015.


Tim Hatch lives in a secret volcano headquarters somewhere in the South Pacific, where he controls the world economy and writes confessional poetry about his disappointing childhood.

His poetry has been published in MungBeing, East Jasmine Review, The Pacific Review, The Vehicle, Touch: The Journal Of Healing, Apeiron Review, and he is the recipient of the 2014 Felix Valdez Award.

He finds writing about himself in the third person to be an overtly seductive invitation to tell lies.

He once captured a French Eagle at Talavera.

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