This week I ran a story about Carver the owl writing his first poem. Writing poetry is as confounding to me as flying a fighter jet. So I never wrote a poem for Carver. The whole story is about the process of him writing a poem, and I didn’t think the poem itself mattered.
I thought wrong.
Due to popular demand, I present to you Carver’s poetry reading (in some parts of the country this would be called a “slam”).
In two parts:
