Poetry is my wife

A poet I am and will be,
not by choice but by blunt force
of words sprawling in my head
demanding some kind of volcanic order,
mind tired of spewing vagrant drivel,
words wanting to be placed purposely,
one by one, until something more than
non-sense is achieved.

First knew I was destined
when gifted notebook of lined paper
appeared on my desk, followed by
a pencil, already sharpened,
online links to dictionaries,
and a master course receipt,

how to write poetry beyond brain farts
and meaningless abstractions.

Next came the sudden desire
to be alone for seemingly endless
hours, moving desk to a full-time view
of rapturous garden, and disconnect
of ESPN and all talking heads,

leaving only mine to listen to
as I imaged the antics of backyard
rabbits, redtail hawks, and chickadees.

Final step was the inexplicable
appearance of poetry in my email
feed, and the sudden urge to learn
haiku, rhyme, and free verse,

so officially poetry is now a boon
and a curse,

what's worse, I like it more
than Seinfeld reruns,
Oliver Twist, and healthy
breakfast cereals.

Enough! time to get writing.