How Now Dow?

From work I called to see if the Wall Street Journal had responded with regard to my poem How Now Dow sent with full anticipation of publication. My live-in granddaughter, Breanna, a college freshman, sounded a bit disappointed when she heard me on the other end of the ringing phone with the same question I had been asking for three weeks.

‘Yes,’ she replied. How excited I was that the much awaited response had arrived!

When I asked her to give me the answer, she was slow to respond. Rejected! I thanked her and said someone else was waiting for this poem - it was up to me to find that niche.

When I arrived home that night, I found the envelope unopened.

I spoke to my daughter who said Breanna, like ET, had phoned home. Able to read the rejection through the envelope but not wanting to give voice to bad news, she asked her mom if she could junk the envelope and continue the ‘sorry it didn’t arrive’ game? Her mother explained why that would be totally unacceptable.

That same poem was soon accepted by The Saturday Evening Post. Breanna watched rejection turn-around first-hand while I gained a lesson in the not-always-visible compassion of youth.

How Now Dow?

Stocks are up - then down,
my head begins to pound,
eyes are hot and blurry,
my mouth all dry and furry.
Dr. Greenspan, help me please!
I think I have Mad Dow Disease.