Poems

If you sit down to write a poem
it won't come
out.
At the end of an hour
what do you have?
Clumsy, cloddy
words
which refuse to render
a tune.

No, poems would rather strike
when you roll over in bed
at 4:21AM
or when your hands are wet
in the kitchen.
Then they pirouette
all over your brain

until you give up
go get a scratch pad
and deliver them
onto paper.
Now, knock it off, won't you?
I want to get back
to sleep.

Donna