A Well-Trained Poem
Let’s celebrate the independence of this poem.
It is nine years old now.
It has learnt a thing or two.
It knows how to restrain itself
and what pitfalls to avoid.
It is no longer sentimental.
This poem has killed its darlings multiple times.
It has stolen from others in broad daylight.
This poem is a scavenger.
It will collect anything it finds on its way.
See how it’s running down the page all by itself.
Now I am no longer afraid to leave it alone
and go do something else.
By the time I return,
this poem will have written itself out
and put a full-stop to itself,
so that we can both go
and get some well-deserved rest.
Much love for your poems running down the page, especially the killers such as this one.
ReplyDelete