In this troubled and hopelessly divided world, can a simple poem make all our little troubles go away?

Remembering J. Alfred Prufrock and his obsession with a simple peach

A daily grind may be good for coffee beans, but not so good for the human body.

For some reason, I'm one of those lucky folks who greatly enjoys the task at hand and I feel extremely fortunate to be able to write in a public forum about the things that concern me or amuse me or make me stop and think for a while.

I mean, the president just said he "thinks" we can make Canada the 51st state without actually going to war - better watch out for the Winnipeg Blue Bombers, sir - and he told Meet the Press he isn't sure if the president is required to follow the U.S. Constitution.

There's more, but what I'm leading up to is a plan in this space to take a few hours away from the Daily Disaster and accept a kind offer from The New York Times to take the "Poetry Challenge," with the promise that "A poem can lift the spirits and nourish the soul."

Okay, I'm ready to be lifted and nourished. But first, are there any special medallions or pieces of clothing I should be wearing?

I'll start off by saying I am not a fan of poetry, even if it cleverly rhymes. Oh sure, I like the cute limerick or two on St. Patrick's Day, but I don't think the poetry police regard that as legitimate.

I recall that in 8th grade at Davis Junior High School we were required to memorize the laboriously boring "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot.

As you may recall, J. Alfred was wondering out loud if he dared to eat a peach. I hope I didn't ruin that for anybody.

As one of my classmates blurted out one day, "T.S. is full of B.S." Then again some of the students actually liked his stuff.