by Sid de Knees

Created on: January 30, 2010   Last Updated: January 31, 2010

"What is this"?

"Dear Sir or Madam", I wrote eagerly in my finest hand, "It is with great pleasure I send for your enjoyment, and with hope of future publication, my first book of poetry." I sat back and re-read the opening lines. "I do understand that few poets exist and joining their rank has startled me, but I, with much encouragement from my family, forward to you these poems.

Yours sincerely, Sid ........."

During the early days of June, I sent like weeds their seeds in Autumn, no less than one hundred and eighty nine copies of this letter to a collection of "submissions accepted" publishers, photocopied from a reference library book, "The small publishers guide two thousand".

Using minimal computer skills, I copied name and address diligently into my computer, then printed off one hundred and eighty nine labels, affixed them to large brown envelopes and headed to the post office for stamps.

Sitting in the coffee shop in the town where I lived at that time, I drank my third black coffee with no signs of destroying the taste of stamp glue. My only consolation was the cashiers look of shock when I asked for one hundred and eighty nine second class stamps, there was no rush, they had waited this long, a few more days would not kill those waiting, thumb twiddling publishers praying for their next Wordsworth, Byron, Keats, Owen. I smiled and regarded it a small price to pay.

"May I have another coffee, the taste has not subsided"

"Were they important letters?"

She seemed genuine in her asking as she poured richly aromatic "Smart Price instant coffee" into an overly priced and undersized cup, especially for a greasy spoon cafe.

Well maybe not as much to us, as they may well be to the literary world I thought, but deferred from saying.

"I'm not sure, the family think so" I replied, sharply adding "They think the poems are better than those they were forced to read in school."

"You're a poet? Are you any good?"

"We'll soon see."

I looked out of the window. A few cars paused, ejected various people with waves or blown kisses onto shadeless checkered paving stones. As drivers inched away, newly created pedestrians orientated themselves and disappeared into flows of faces. I swirled a few undissolved grains around, recalled Grandma swilling tea leaves in my youth in a similarly decorated cafe, then swigging my monies worth like an old mountain man would his whiskey, waved, bid fair well and stepped into brightness. It was neither a long nor memorable walk home, but for

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