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Rushing on a Poem
I meekly told myself the other day, when I discovered that April is National Poetry Month, that I would write and post a poem a day. I tell myself I’ll do a lot of things. These things often end up in the wastepaper basket or stuck to a scrap of paper or stuck to the bottom of my guilty shoes. For whatever reason, I’m drawing a line this month and I’m bent, contorted I dare say, on finishing what I have not yet really started.
Tonight I’m cutting it close to the clock. Typically, because it’s how the whole process natural seems to flow for me, I like to write a bit before the poem. Suppose I’ve done that already but write thematically about the poem, not pragmatically. They’ll be no soft segway into the poem tonight because I spell like a third grader and make more mistakes on route to posting than I can bare to share. Half an hour to spare isn’t much in my hollow of a brain.
Two Days. I Guess.
Two days I waited for her answer - to a simple question plucked from a plumb swollen with lust.
"Do you love me baby?" Minus the baby. Momma raised no fool.
Two days I waited under torrents of bitter self doubt. Too soon you crumb. Too pedestrian, washed up, wiped out, whittled down, to little nubs of a once proud bear.
Two days after she returned to me. Damn her cool calculation.
"I need you." There was that and a hesitation. Meanwhile a train ran over my guts. "...I guess."
"I guess?" Damn you vicious witch of pain Damn you to hell and an eternity of barbed wire spite. Damn you to fire. May you slowly roast in a marinade of spit and shit for ten thousand years.
"I guess?" And what of love? What's this need? Harpy Bitch.
I thought all this, standing before her. Felt it, faster than the velocity of rage.
But it left like a penny and I knew my heart. I responded to her two days with an unceremonious and utterly heartfelt "That'll do. Baby."
That baby stuck around.
written for the april poem-a-day every-once-in-a-while exercise
Further Reading
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