This is not a conversation about poetry. It is more of a CSI investigation into who killed poetry, and if humor and a defibrillator can bring it back to life. Whether you blame your high school English teacher with his never ending cry of "what does this poem mean?" or the bevy of crying bridesmaids who over rhymed word like “beer” with “cheer” and “neat” with “sweet” or perhaps the murder charge goes to the New Yorker who published poems so complex that the British educated engineering code crackers at Bletchley Park could not decipher them. Whoever is at fault, this conversation tried hard to pump much needed humor and oxygen back into our poetic lungs so that the poem can live to die another day.