I Sat Down to Write a Bad Poem

I sat down to write a bad poem,
all skin belt above tight fitting jeans,
all balls and wheel rims and neon on velvet,
a lurid symphony, a runny peach pie of a poem.

I sat down to write a bad poem,
one where Nixon marries Jackie O
and they make a border run in stolen clothes,
and open a wax museum in Juarez with only two people in it.

I sat down to write a bad poem
and all I kept thinking about was you–
twelve years into a five year diagnosis,
still laughing and telling dirty jokes

about the penguin who blew a seal
and taking Tamoxifen and smoking dope
and singing Angel from Montgomery
and I remembered there aren’t any bad poems,
just ones you refuse to finish.

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8 responses to “I Sat Down to Write a Bad Poem

  1. Oh glorious Burl – carry on don’t let this one finish!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This my favorite kind of poem. Original voice, well-worked images wrapped around a bit of surprising truth.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Perfect hook. I’m desperate to hear the rest of the story, but holding back because the poignancy lies in keeping the shades pulled. Thanks.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Yes.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. ’nuff said…

    Like

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