Your Turn

I said I wouldn’t post a poem
today, and I lied;

said I would not say a bad thing about
the President, and
I lied;

did not complain about
a dearth of songbirds outside,
and I told the truth — at least I think so,
as the windows are all closed
but I don’t see them in their
accustomed places or hear
the songs and calls;

I said so much
about today, but it has not
come to pass at all.

I sit here in the moment
between a poem and the now
of realizing its wasted chance,
and I should weep for it
and the time I’ve wasted

but I’m listening for birds
and hating the President
and all the space
I could have used
for a poem
is lost to me.

Perhaps you could use it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T