I can't remember whether I heard Donald Hall or Robert Bly say that a title to a poem is the equivalent of the poet jabbing the reader in the ribs with an elbow, saying: Do you get it? Do you get it? Whether Hall or Bly, here's a poem with no title.
I've come to help you, she said,
The wind is strong and it might
Blow you over. I don't want you to fall.
Two others called out:
She's taking care of you;
You're a lucky guy today.
She held out her elbow for
Him to take. They left
The building, headed for his car.
Watch your step, this wind
Is fierce. He tightened his hold
On her arm. Thanks, he said.
The southern sky was robin's egg blue;
Black clouds were forming to the north.
Here we are, she said, opening the car door.
He slid safely into the driver's seat,
Clicked the belt, and then
He inserted the ignition key.