to all the poems i have never posted

they stare at me with hollow eyes
& really, i have tried to like them
but i don’t–

i scrubbed ’em in the bath tub,
tongue-kissed, dyed their hair and
shifted them across the page like
a mad man’s game of chess, i

threw the pawn, bribed the queen &
kidnapped every tower
without much success–

now they’re spilled across the living room,
run in crazy circles on the carpet,
playing catch me with the cat and
some of them get eaten,
others disappear in cracks between the timber floor,
the rest lies bleeding on my lap–

“why not recycle them?”
my husband is a hands-on man
and even though he’s not a fan of poetry,
he has compassion for the words that
lie with ruffled hair and broken legs
behind the cushions on the couch
and he apologizes
when he sits upon one accidentally–
but honestly–

who wants to write a poem with recycled words,
labeled: “ i have been a tire” or
“my mother was a PET”
“maybe you should take them for a walk”
he says and wipes some from the glass
before he pours a drink–
“or what about a movie night–?”
nah, i tell him that i plan
to grow feathers in my armpits,
mainly cause i want to fly but maybe–

i could also nurse some
broken poems in the warmth–?

shaking his head, he
packs them sandwiches and pulls
a bunch of sparklers from the drawer,
takes a bow, distributes and lights ’em, gosh–
there must be hundreds, then
he puts his arm around my shoulder
as we’re standing in the driveway
& with blurry eyes,
watch ‘em swaying twinkling flames
before they disappear around the bend
in a happy giggling firework parade

.

it’s FormForAll again at dVerse and we have a special guest, tending bar today.. jump over there at 3pm EST when the doors swing open…and in case you meet some giggling poems on the road…just bring them along…smiles