They have asked me before,
and they will keep asking
“Why do you write poetry?
Why not novels, or plays,
or cookbooks, or something
anyone would actually read?”

 

And I’ll say in a blur,
“because it’s easy.”
Which’ll make the
writers spit and their
hairs stand all on-end

 

But the readers will lean in
a bit closer from their
armchairs, sweating, because
they’re really quite tired
of hearing how hard it all is
and how they don’t really
appreciate this thing
they call writing
that they love more than the
world and its wonders.

 

With slow blinks I’ll tell them
how it’s so easy
I can write a thousand poems
before breakfast
with enough beer,
but I can’t really afford that.
See, the difficulty is that its so easy
you’ll never get out all the things
you’ve finally found the words for.

 

It’s just about as easy
as the sun going down, or
lighting up a cigarette.

 

Damnably easy.
Diabolically easy.
It will send you to Hell its so easy.
They’ll put you in jail
to teach you a lesson because
life is supposed to be hard,
and you don’t get to break rules
when you’re a poet.

 

The real secret though
is that I’m not a poet.
I’m just drunk with time
and have a lot of paper to burn.
So my advice is:
Try being something else
first, and then write poems.
And trust me
it will be easy.