On Having a Poem

On Having a Poem

Having a poem is like having a child.

Although there is, indeed, less pain--

you don’t often know what you’re going to get.

It could be a temperamental child.

You hope to God it’s not a child gone wild.

Like a child, an infant poem

you can caress, perhaps even digress to

pamper and pull, some.

You can bandy it about.

You can comb its long hair.

You can dress it up

and you can take it everywhere.

Having a poem is like

diving into a waterfall--

you don’t know exactly where you will end up.

Having a poem is like

being lost at night.

“Blink-blink,” there is a light

somewhere off in the distance…

and you hope you can

catch up to it

and make it out.

Having a poem is like having a shiny, new penny.

You can finger it

and turn it ’round and ’round in your hand, some.

Then you can (hopefully) turn it over to a friend.

It’s like a token.

Slip it in the slot

and just get on the train!

It might be a fast track or a long, slow ride.

Having a poem

is like (and unlike) having a child…

When it becomes a toddler and it

wanders off, alone, on shaky legs,

don’t worry--

you can just let go of its hand.