The Poem Theif
Today
I woke up and my poems were gone.
So,
I became a theif,
First
I slunk back into bed, found my lover folded in amongst the pillows and
blankets.
“ellen”
whispered as I kissed her cracked lips.
But
she slips deeper so I
I
steal poems off her coffee with cream shoulder which breaks above her shirt .
I
untangle the bits of heaven from her hair, which mingles in inky ribbons
against the ivory pillows.
Her
breath hums against the world, pushing back as dreams are being made, and I
steal every one.
In
the next room the baby begins to sing her songs of loneliness
Her
voice pierces,
shrill
silver against so much grey.
Without
a noise I slip in…next to her crib…but she sees me.
Her
lips curl, into her wide daddy grin and she begins to giggle.
Her
eyes squeeze tight, trying to hold her laughs in, but with ten fingers and two
kisses her laughter is mine
It
bursts from her belly,
I
capture each poem written by her pudgy fingers on my whisker face and give them
back one my one, by nibbling her nose.
On
my way to work I steal poems from the cars as they crush against each other,
Greedy
for each inch of blacktop, each stop light, and every open lane.
They
pour themselves into the pavement,
trying
to be the first one to go no where
But
the winner is a broken down hatchback with a busted blinker and jacked up rear
tire,
the driver lays on the hood
resisting
the tide of cars,
and
gives me his poem as I pass.
I
steal poems from the naked trees longing for their summer garments
I steal
pomes from the puddles mixing mud and gasoline rainbows
I
steal poems from the shadows following each footstep of the postman
I
steal poems from a bum on a bike whose whiskers have survived decades of razor
blades
I
climb the clouds and begin to steal poems from the sun
It’s
sonnets, like lightening, transform puddles, chrome bumpers taxicab
windshields, and the waterfall rocks on 6 TH ave below the coppertop
church,
The
sun sets ablaze the dying mass of 1 billion huddled snowflakes,
I
take and take and take… until I can take no more…
With
a head full of stolen poems and I sit down to write…
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