Working Poet

What would poets do

if everyone paid attention

to the universe,

that is, pieces of it

at a time?

Maybe poets would

just have to try to live

for a living.

And what would

be the satisfaction

in that?

Of course, that’s just

silly.

Poet’s write first

because that’s how

they pay attention.

And what is

the satisfaction

in living

anyway?

I really

should just

go for a walk.

Maybe I’ll stop

for an egg crème

and think about the

chocolate syrup,

or the milk,

or the soda water,

or the smooth, cold

stones of clear ice

that carry the flavors -

just a hint -

of chocolate milk

with a little fizz.

I really should just

stop.

Maybe there’s a bench:

A poet’s life

can be so very

tedious and tiresome,

finding satisfaction

in such small increments.

Maybe I should just

breathe

more deeply.