Lost in the woods of words…

Not Fit to be a Poet

I’ve just returned from a magical visit to
the Department of Motor Vehicles
and it occurred to me that I’ve never
written anything about the place
even though that’s what everyone who
ever attempted verse has done;

which got me thinking about all the other
things I’ve ignored in my attempt
to deconstruct life with words, like births,
sunsets, spring, sunrises, fall,
the pattern worn in the rug of an old
man’s home as he paced wondering
if his children would ever visit him,
or cats and how superior they are to
husbands, or dogs or anything for that
matter being superior to husbands;

I’ve never written about subs
from Hero’s on Addison, the chocolate
scent from the factory nearby, or why pickled
beets are only found on salad bars;
I’ve ignored rhododendrons, the thorns
of roses, and even chrysanthemums,
daffodils in spring (again, no spring),
and leaves in fall – although I have
written about children making a mess
out of a neatly raked pile but that
doesn’t count;

it’s hard to believe I’ll amount to anything
in versification without a Frost-like walk
in the New England countryside but
all I can imagine is that he was a
failure as a farmer and therefore my wanting
to walk as Robert did loses some street-cred
no matter how much people love his
stupid two roads diverging in the woods,
and it seems I took neither and that
is certainly my loss…


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