I read a recent poem, then I read it once again.
I mused a bit, then slept on it – and then I saw the point.

I took the poem to my friend and he said he had read it.
He’d mused a bit, then slept on it, and then he’d seen the point.

But as we talked about the poem it gradually emerged
our points were not at all the same: quite different in kind.

We sent an email to the poet to ask her to decide
which of us had got her point and who had got it wrong.

In her reply she pointed out that now, in point of fact,
a poem need not have a point: such strictures were passé

but thanked us for our interest, admitted to her shame
at a wee frisson of pleasure to learn she’d scored deux points.