why write poetry?
it doesn’t pay the rent
or prepare cheesesteak sandwiches
or make blankets
that might warm someone
you can’t dance to it
walk with it
or talk with it
it’s not a friend
but really the strangest of strangers
you catch looking out a window
who ducks to stay out of sight
i see you out there
bent over the rock
pondering a poem
then start to leave
before returning for
a last check of lyrics
or to reread a conclusion
maybe poetry is just
a need to see the world
through different eyes
and perhaps my need and yours
need each other
to open that door