Monday, February 02, 2015

Poetry Smokes

Because there’s no money in poetry
She sits on the back deck
Smoking a cigarette that
Can not kill her.

Wondering what bit jobs
Her sister Exposition
Will throw her way.

Exposition tries to be kind to her
Saying how she appreciates
Her insightfulness
That she knows
Exactly how to say

But she doesn’t think that
Exposition really groks
What goes on in
Her own self.

That willingness to follow the smoke
Up into the sky and not be
Earthbound and not have to have
Subject, Verb, Object and not have to worry about
Mixed metaphors

She liked mixing metaphors
She liked swimming with the fish in the ocean
And then climbing a tree
With gusto and bravery.

And then falling into the sky
Winding up on Mars
And then flying
Into the earth
And digging
Her own grave

But she can’t stay in her grave
She can dig it
She can dig down
Commune with the worms
The bugs, the microbes, the dirt
Talk with the rocks

But then she will emerge
With the grass
With the people, with the horses, the dogs, the cats
The wildebeests
And run with the wolves
Because she can use cliche
Exposition can’t

1 comment:

Elf said...

I like this.