Me Tell You How It Is
One of these days I'm going to get myself a muse.
Strong, fearless, with a sense of humor
maybe a biker chick
with a tattoo
Eyebrow pierced, and a navel ring
I'll stare at as I contemplate life.
She'll sit Buddha-like
belly full of possibilities.
how about a love poem?
cat in the road?"
"Sure, nothing to it."
"How about one on death, the X-files,
There'll be no subject she can't handle.
I'll say, "Are life."
"Lighten up!" she'll say.
Later, at night, after glasses of wine
she'll explain the source of life
in a poem. How it's like a pool
of brightly colored swimming fish.
trick is you have to sneak
the buggers. Just crawl up on your
belly, slide your hand into the cool water
and wait. Don't get lost
in the color and movement. Wait
for the nibbles on your fingers.
It doesn't hurt much." She'll hold
out her scared bitten hands to me.
you feel a nibble, grab
sucker, right behind the gills.
living, breathing heart
poem. You'll feel it gasp
and struggle. Understand that to keep
it alive the poem has to breathe in your pool
fountain of words
great lake of a blank page.
it will swim, shimmer, live.
again and I'll say,
See? Nothing to it!" She'll smile
how about a Sunday Afternoon Poem?"
She'll laugh and say
2River View, 1_3 (Spring 1997)