I called the Office of Muse Affairs
this morning, having found their number
on the inside of a matchbook
advertising a course
about how to become
a famous writer,
and inquired why serious poems –
like those written by Ralph Murre,
Sharon Auberle and W. S. Merwin –
continue to elude me.

Do you want to be serious
or would you rather be happy?

the muse who answered sensibly asked.
Besides, she continued,
couldn’t what works for Billy Collins
also work for you?
Good thinking!
I said. What’s your name?
You can call me, she replied,
A. Muse.