Okay it is all my fault
I should not have said it
or, rather wrote it
but I did and now I have to
at least attempt an apology.

All I did was write it on the list
Pick up groceries
Pay the tax bill
drop off the cookies
write the damn poem

And it read my list, that poem did
I hurt its feelings
and now it’s hiding in the shadows
refusing to come out
a cat under the bed in a storm.

Poems, after all, are cats
they don’t come when called,
they don’t meet us at the door.
We are staff to them, serving them
the cats and the poems.

Stories are puppies, jumping all around, appearing
whenever you least expect it
But a poem,
you have to sit
very still
very patiently
lightly holding the pen
as to not scare the poem away.
Sometimes smelly things will help entice it
sardines, scented candles,
ozone after a rain.

But mostly it will come when it is good and ready
and not a second before.
But only if you’re quiet
only if you’re ready
and especially,

Only if you don’t cuss at it!