The magazine ad made it sound like fun,
Just send in a poem. It only takes one.
Pick your own subject, and once you are done,
Include a SASE. Find out if you won!
I had everything except the SASE.
My poem was completed, and I was well pleased.
I'll submit it and win the contest with ease.
All that was stopping me, was that SASE.
What is a SASE? It had to be small
to go through the mail. This would be my downfall!
What did one look like? Did I have one at all?
Google wasn't here yet. There was no one to call.
William Frost must have had one, and Mr. Poe.
The deadline was close, and my poem had to go, so
I put a new stamp on a new envelope,
And wrote my address where the "where to" address goes.
Sullen and sad, I sealed it all up with a tear.
Will they disqualify me? That was my fear.
I'll get that SASE, and I'll keep it near.
Maybe I'll have one by this time next year !
__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __
** This seed was planted for this silly poem in 1985, and it finally germinated 35 years later. Back in 1985. I was a student in a Creative Writing class taught by Mr. Weldon Payne at Motlow college. The discussion that day involved sending your work off to be considered for publication. Mr. Payne told us to send a self addressed stamped envelope in order to receive back either a rejection letter, or a hopefully, a more positive response. I don't recall Mr. Payne using the abbreviated term, SASE.
A short time later, I was in the process of sending something off to a magazine with hopes of publication. They asked that I send my SASE. For a moment, I had no idea what that was. There was no google or Bing yet. I quickly figured it out, and had a good laugh at myself. Not long after that, I saw Mr. Payne, and we talked about that experience. I remember saying to him, "I knew I had a B.S. from UTM, but for the life of me, I didn't have a SASE. We laughed, and talked about other quirky things that are easily misunderstood.
As the years rolled by, I read and followed Weldon's weekly article, "Through the Payne". Oftentimes this was about his children and grandchildren, or what ever was amusing or puzzling him at the time.
Recently, Scott told me his father, Weldon, is living in the nursing home in Manchester, dealing with age related issues.
My memory took me back to that day in his creative writing class. This silly poem began there. 35 years later, it was written and included here, with the hope that we can all smile and laugh a little, in Weldon's honor.