I don’t feel as if
I know enough about
the company to endorse
the product, but I
know enough about
the expanse of paper
to say it allows just
enough space for
a poem – not a novel,
or even notes for a
novel, but a poem,
entirely. A short
story. If I still
wrote those I would
tell you. I might
answer in the affirmative.
I might answer that
though it would take
a great number of them
that yes, a person could
write a short story here.
And I imagine that
if William Carlos
Williams were still
alive and still
practicing – both
poetry and medicine – 
he would write about
plums on the blueberry
Pepcid pad.
Pepcid, by the
way, is generically
known as Famotidine,
which is not a word that
belongs in a poem. Which
is why I will never be
a poet and why
I should save this word
for plum season, for
blueberry season, for
a season other than this
one. Some time in the
future. When generic
and Pepcid and
Famotidine can
be fluidly claimed
iambic with a
straight face – without
trace of a smile
without irony – without
counter-indications
or stickiness, a note
fallen, forgotten.

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