Our daughter was playing with a new acquisition, Robert Kroetsch’s The Hornbooks of Rita K. After Rita Kleinhart went missing in 1992 Kroetsch, her friend and lover, was put in charge of her literary estate. Andi took the book from Norah, saying, “Oh, did you want me to read it to you?” and opened at random to Hornbook #30:
Why do I imagine phone calls in which she tells me I have disappeared?
“Wait,” my wife said. “That was supposed to be a poem?”
Thus summarizes, I think, the general feeling toward contemporary poetry.