November: Prior to the Christmas Rush (Patricia Gomes)

I don't care
that you're a malcontent,
a discontent. I don't
care.

Not particularly.

That your life is not
as you pictured it to be
when you were
15
and a dreamer.
That your life
is
not.
That your life
has
not
happened. Or has —

to someone else.

I don't care. Not particularly.
That you've fallen,
and rose
only to fall again.
Or that your mother was a hag,
your sister a whore,

or that poetry
escapes you.

I don't.

There are leaves
to crunch
and numbers
to rake.
We take
our poetry
where we find it. Take with food
2X daily, but never
before bed.

(Copyright (C) 2005 Patricia Gomes)