MY PRIZES MY AWARDS MY HONORS that reading those decades ago after which an old woman came up to me and said she was glad my poems had silos in them young people need to write poems with silos in them to my horror Dad told me he'd shown the poem about an older relative that detailed the comical scandal of his life to my cousin the man's daughter but then he told me it made her laugh that she loved it because she had loved him that younger poet who corrected me when I complained that the only thing people in town remembered me for was a poem I wrote quickly and mostly for amusement twenty years before: "it's an honor that they should still like it" me, ashamed: "of course you're right"