Idiot laureate

The U.S. has a new poet laureate as reported in WaPo. The burning question: why??? Why, precisely, does America need an official poet? Some poetry is good, mind you. I'm not a complete pleb. I like red wine and golf like every other elitist snob. They're just inferior to beer and football. So what is the freaking deal with having a poet laureate?

Questing for this answer, I decided to read some of the poetry of Charles Simic, our new stanza mascot.

"Green Buddhas / On the Fruitstand / We eat the smile / And spit out the teeth"

Too bad there's no good way to express simultaneous total contempt and mild amusement in writing. Perhaps there is, but I lack the talent. Simic could do it if he wasn't too busy writing about eating smiles.

His other poems might be better. Here's a piece of Hotel Insomnia:

At 5 A.M. the sound of bare feet upstairs.
The "Gypsy" fortuneteller,
Whose storefront is on the corner,
Going to pee after a night of love.
Once, too, the sound of a child sobbing.
So near it was, I thought
For a moment, I was sobbing myself.

From The School of Metaphysics:

Executioner happy to explain
How his wristwatch works
As he shadows me on the street.
I call him that because he is grim and officious
And wears black.

From Errata:

Where it says table read horse
Where it says horse read my migrant's bundle
Apples are to remain apples
Each time a hat appears
think of Isaac Newton

Oh, well. Football season is only a month away.