It's worth mentioning, too, that both this poem and the poem Boston Review took had previously been rejected by at least twenty places each. I know some people retire poems after a certain number of rejections, but I've never done that; some styles of mine take years to click with editors, and then all of a sudden three or four will be accepted in a row. It's completely unpredictable. Moral of the story: don't put your horses down before their time, eventually you will encounter an editor who is a cat or a Frenchman, and that editor will eat your horse and consider it delicious. So put that in your gravy and...and chunk it.