“The effect is lovely, Sir,” I said,
“but should you go canoeing
in that tailored three-piece suit?”
The breeze was stiffening,
and dark mackerel clouds
augured rain and rising waves.
“Perhaps a life jacket,” I said,
“or better, safe ashore
with a hot drink?”
He smiled and handed me
his rings and wristwatch.
“You worry too much,” he said.
Like a swan, he slid away
into darkness and distance:
If I could remember just what I meant to say
before some diversion wafted thought away
or enter a room and not wonder what for?
(which I certainly knew ’til I opened the door)
Or if I could do without making a list
of things that I knew I would otherwise miss
then I’d certainly not be this old and addled
and thinking that others can hear my brain rattle
around in my head like mice in a maze
running the course in my short term daze.
If you ask what inspired me to write this poem
my civil response is to send you hoem.
If you ask me how I wrote this werk
I’d answer you with this rational perk:
If I waited to be inspired and fonkey
I’d write with the skill of a typewriter monkey.
I sit down to write every day at these times
because if I don’t there won’t be any rimes.
Writing’s a craft just like any werk:
‘Til you turn on the heat, your coffee won’t perk.
