Poetry in the Age of Wireless Unfashionable now — The long hours spent Shaping lines, For a dwindling clientele Of other poets Who might still notice The workmanship: The craft, The grain of the line, A phrase honed smooth Or left rough as timber. The rest pass by without looking. And yet the trade persists — If trade is even the word — Not for profit or praise But because past connections Must be held intact Even now, in the wireless age; Because the old