Some days I write with a thick pencil,
ham fisted in a Big Chief tablet,
barely literate - smudged and smeared,
unwieldy, childish prose.
Every now and again,
I write with a scalpel,
All bloody and pain wrecked -
words excised, still dripping.
On Fridays, I write with a rain gutter,
catching the words as a down pour,
sluicing them in the general direction
of a downspout, wet and soggy.
More often, I write with a plow.
Heavy lifting, dirt worked
in the hot sun, sweaty seeding
hoping for something besides a weed.
Most days, I write with a shovel,
heaving sticky piles of steamy manure,
from one plop
to the other.
On a very rare day,
no matter my device,
everything...
works.
Chris, I miss you! and I love this poem. It's my favorite by far. We did a 5K on Saturday and the Thin Blue Line was going at the same time. I kept hoping to run into you or your family. I must stop by and see you soon.
ReplyDeleteOh it's great to hear from you! We did not make the Thin blue line this year - i was sad. Would love to see you guys! Thanks for the encouraging words. C.
ReplyDeleteI like this one as well, keep posting!
ReplyDeleteI love your poetry. The poem is so beautiful in its subtle way.
ReplyDeleteI enjoy your post so much!!
This is really cute. I enjoyed it.
ReplyDelete