The Poem That Rhymes

Maybe I'll write a poem.
And maybe it will rhyme,
and it will be all about the trenches of time,
and when you read it,
it will sound like wind chimes,
and maybe someone on a street table,
will sell it to you for a dime,
because your wife likes romantics but she'll know it isn't yours,
and the fact that you thought she would is your biggest crime,
so maybe you'll sit down with a pencil and pretend,
that you're some poet as you drink whiskey and lime,
but you'll only pour a bottle of black ink over your words,
a failure as much as a talking mime,
shoving the drenched paper into her hands,
whispering that you're only sorry that you couldn't get it to rhyme.


-anna sluder

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