Here's a poem I wrote a long time ago. It isn't very good. And I say it isn't very good even though I hate when people post their creative shit and then immediately begin ducking away from it. So I'll elaborate and say that I like this poem a lot because writing it was fun and there are parts I get a kick out of every time I read it. But I am not a poet. I have never been good at poetry, and I seldom if ever try to write poems. Sometimes I wish I was a poet. There's something about a good poem that makes it, I think, a superior form of art compared to almost everything else. Which is probably why I never read poetry either. Half the time I don't get it. Or, when I do get it, it seems so simple, so obvious. Most poems are a disappointment. Most poems suck. But when they're good, they're really fucking good. So here is my poem, which, even though it sucks, for me it is really fucking good.
The 5-Day Forecast for Bullshit Land
The snow missed Manhattan,
hit Bullshit Land instead. No soft powder,
only ice, sharp in my face.
I paused, inhaled frost, tightened
my chest, nipples erect, cursed
Sam Champion for raising hopes,
And made my gentle steps down
the sidewalk. After 13 blocks I was
snotty and winded at your door.
You insisted I keep my jacket,
didn’t offer tea, only six reasons
not to untie my shoes, to tighten my scarf,
step back into the ice. The storm inside
was worse, you said, with lies and anger
followed by make-up sex as we move into
the weekend. Better if we spare ourselves
the bullshit. I paused, inhaled frost, and
made my gentle steps down the sidewalk.