The List, The Poem, The List

manuelaI am not a poet.
I don’t understand poetry.
I can’t write a poem.
I am not poetic.

The mantra of negatives,
Half spoken truthfully,
Half intended to hide
The fact that

You are a poet.
You do understand poetry.
You can write a poem.
You are poetic.

Stopping on your commute
To work, you pick up a tortoise
And bring it back for me to observe
And let loose in the garden.
You write a “list” about my golf cart
And my family
And my cats and dogs
And me.
You feed me your dreams,
Which as dreams often are,
Reek of poetic images
And intentions, synesthesia
Of sight and movement,
Models from Price is Right
And crocodiles submerged in mud.

 In some ways,
We are all what we are not.
In some ways,
We are all not what we are.

–Shaun Perkins

2 thoughts on “The List, The Poem, The List”

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