Today, I have deep, crumbling, responsibilities.
I’m glad it’s not capillaries. Having deep, crumbling, capillaries would be worrying… anyway, onward…
Digging deep, in dutiful indignant and in signifant distraction,
crumbling beneath the weight of poetic satisfaction,
responsibilities to myself, to write a verse more true
than these clinging rhyming couplets that are always pushing through.
Perhaps it is the rush to serve these words just while I wait
to let my dinner stand to cool, though hungry, at my plate.
I’m so grate-ful for the means to cook while doing nothing much
ot I’d never do much writing and to a distant dream I’d clutch.
Perhaps one day, re-drafted, there’s hope for poetry more fair –
now to the next challenge – washing up the tupperware!