I woke up late. A friend is due in something less than an hour. I need to shower. So poetry practice is a bit like playing beat the clock. The theme was suggested by an email exchange with a poetry creative colleague yesterday when I said I wanted to noodle with a particular idea or theme. Which, given what needs to happen today, won’t happen until after suppertime. It kind of feels like a typical humpday of a week’s Wednesday.
takes flour and water,
maybe an egg,
pulling it all together,
rolling it out so flat
it's a virgin's bedsheet,
call it paper thin
and a poem.
But how do you cut it?
So many shapes to choose for your filet.
How shall you embellish it?
So many tastes to please, so many ways.
Will they eat it? Will they like it?
Well, millions have been known to praise
this soul food that, like poetry,
it's no passing craze.
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