The poets for hire sat three in a row on Frenchman Street.
Two had typewriters.
Two wore hats.
One wore leather suspenders.
They all puffed on cigarettes.
How do we choose? we asked.
The one without a hat said he was despondent.
The one wearing suspenders said he was happy.
The one on the end wrote by hand.
We chose the happy one in the middle.
What subject? he asked.
My husband suggested,
"What's Cuter: Puppies or Babies?"
Because my brother had been pressing us on the question all day.
My brother says puppies.
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