If you are had a difficult time composing a poem for April's Poetry Month--or if you are having difficulty writing anything these days, Tom Dow offers this:
The Poem You Asked For
My poem would eat
nothing.
I tried giving it water
but it said no,
worrying me.
Day after day,
I held it up to the
llight,
turning it over,
but it only pressed its
lips
more tightly together.
It grew sullen, like a
toad
through with being
teased.
I offered it money,
my clothes, my car with
a full tank.
But the poem stared at
the floor.
Finally I cupped it in
my hands, and carried it
gently
out into the soft air,
into the
evening traffic,
wondering how
to end things between
us.
For now it had begun
breathing,
putting on more and
more hard rings of
flesh.
And the poem demanded
the food,
it drank up all the
water,
beat me and took my
money,
tore the faded clothes
off my back,
said Shit,
and walked slowly away,
slicking its hair down.
Said it was going
over to your place.
by Larry Levis
