I have fallen down on my job of poet stalker
Happy 69th Birthday today, poet Billy Collins.Over 50 people have emailed to tell me it's your birthday, so I think I've done an adequate job of stalking you in the past. Yes, indeed I have.
Today, however, it slipped my mind. How is this possible?, you're wondering, there in your poet slippers worn down at the heel, peeling a banana or making a smoothie with overly ripe papayas.
Well, maybe it had to do with the snow here on the third day of Spring, perhaps that threw me off. Or the packing for a trip to Hastings, Nebraska, tomorrow – where (if I can be completely honest with you, Billy) I am quite in love with the idea that Nebraskan poet Ted Kooser might walk by the Blue Moon Coffee Shop whilst I'm sipping a tall latte and chatting with David and Jennica and Soozie and Megan and Beth–no, not Beth because she'll be out of town–and Lynne and Matt and Angela and Lisa and Harry and Jack, my fantastic Jack, and Robin and Carey and…well, you get the picture.
But happy birthday nonetheless. Call when you get a chance, in between sonnets or pentameter or line dancing or whatever you're doing now.