If it only takes ten minutes
to write and post a poem I’m way
beyond the scale of such economy;
far too slow to test the words internally
with dulcet voices reading tones
and listening for a ring of rhyme,
a resonance that sings or
says, “No, No!”.
The sheer effrontery of it abrades
but cheek of Old Nick smacks such
that not giving a tinker’s damn cracks
a wicked smile, I’ll have a go.
There, eight minutes in and
I’ve wracked a poem,
- of sorts,
and up she goes...
© 21 March 2009, I. D. Carswell
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