Dear Bobby,

I was shamed into reading your last book
because your latest has just come out.
It has rested on my desk
since you signed it for me
on the last book tour
three years ago.

You wrote: “Good luck, John”
which made it well worth buying in hardcover
instead of downloading illegally
despite the fact that you spelled my name with an H
where it doesn’t belong.

I meant to read it immediately
and then within the month
and by the end of the year,
it was more like a sculpture
at a work desk I rarely used.

You’ve always been sonething
of an inspiration to me,
enough to make me identify
as a writer
though my writing desk
sits vacant
as does my brainpan
of ideas
that would make me
the next you.

My attention span gets in my way.
When I should be writing,
I am reading
and when I should be reading,
I’m watching the news
and when I should be watching the news,
I’m spanking one out.

I don’t know why I’m telling you that.
I don’t even know why I’m sending this out
except to say
I liked your last book
and wish
that I’d picked it up
before it was available in paperback
and that I was worthy
of those well-wishes
from three years ago.