Everyone tells me
I have ‘a way
with words.’
I use creative
adjectives
poignant details
and occasionally
clever phrasing.
I call it a gift.
And it is… like a
wedding gift
that sits in a
box
in a dusty hall
closet
until the friend
who presented you
with the
expensive knick knack
arrives for a
visit.
Then it is
resurrected,
polished and
displayed
for a short
while.
But it is much
too nice for everyday
and shortly, goes
back into storage.
How do they do
it?
Poets, I mean.
How do they think
of all these
important social issues
and clever
metaphors
when their kids
need shoes,
the toilet needs
fixing,
and they’re
worried
about putting
food on the table?
How do they use
their
shiny crystal
gifts
with the tuna
casserole?
KWF