NaPoWriMo 2

Poeting is hard.

The Secret Lives of Poets

You wait for moments like this—
when the children are fussy

and the car won’t start,
changing its mind with the turn of a key.

Could it be the battery,
the inadequate heart that won’t start?

Or is it the corroded connections
tired of the stress of making ends meet?

And you, mechanically inclined as a wisk,
are stranded at the grocery store parking lot,

embarrassed by this sudden vulnerability.
Your eyes fill up by the quart.

Both kids look to you as if to say,
how are you going to fix this?

They don’t understand that
you cannot chose the days you are given

when you pull out of the driveway
to the next quiet disaster, all your hopes

strapped to the back seat. It’s just you
armed with a pen, the only tool you know how to use.


Oh January ~ I am that poet, I am that mother, I am that woman! Love it :-) Such a delicious taste of the month to come...
January said…
Thanks BB. Writing a poem a day is like doing 500 sit-ups a day. I'm hoping to build up my mental stamina in April.

Then again, ask me how I feel in a week!
Jone said…
I have been there. Loved the line that your eyes fill up by the quart.
Bug said…
This is amazing. Really beautiful. So many great lines, I'll just quote a few:
changing its mind with the turn of a key; mechanically inclined as a wisk; Your eyes fill up by the quart; all your hopes strapped to the back seat.

I guess I may as well have just quoted the whole thing!
Brian said…
I can hear the grinding now. I work in a service department and your poem is something I live many times a day. The emotions of those trapped range wildly.
Leila said…
wow, powerful!
"the stress of making ends meet" is a bit of a cliche, not very personal, and does not conjure any images. consider replacing. otherwise, your stuff is bracing and great. as usual.

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