THE POETS OF WINTER [Sat, 2-10-18]

THE POETS OF WINTER                              [Sat, 2-10-18]

In the years of winter, it is fun

to be a poet in a coffee house

The problem with being a poet in a coffee house

is that everybody else here is a poet, too

As we look around, trying to find a muse.

all we find is other poets,

with their scraggly beards

and disorganized braless bosoms

[Different poets, those two]

Each of us trying to find a color or season or bird

to whom we can compare the others

A rainbow plaid of unrhymed scrigglers

An autumn full of torn-out leaves

A flamboyance of flatulent flamingoes

Or something we can see to justify the cost of coffee

since poetry can easily be done

in any place that does not charge by the word

Plastic spoons rampant on a field of quiche

The dregs of decaf through unwashed plate-glass

Noses red from cold and sniffing for a simile

I must go, my parking meter calls me

I wonder what they’ll write about me as

I walk away, one leg that rhymes

one that is free verse

JRMcF

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I tweet as yooper1721 and write poetry as Billy Collins. [Bazinga!]