For the Common Good

Everybody has at least one in them, unfortunately
they don’t get to it until a birthday or anniversary,
college roommate’s wedding or loved ones’ funeral
when words that’ve been bottled up for years pop their seal
and pour sticky sentiment all over the nearest guests.

These untrained souls don’t recall whether an anapest
is one or how the sonnet turns, school having taught only
lessons on the torture of phrases, the way to hoist a hose.

Better if poetry was easily accomplished like text messaging,
simple, attractive and available as soft drinks instead of booze
at church functions. That way, craft would be a matter of pride
as folks jostle and nudge inspiration into pleasing shapes.

Imagine the topless dancer writing an aubade on her thigh,
a serial killer sending crown sonnet clues to the detectives,
pizza delivery boys bringing a villanelle (on special this week)
to the fraternity house hosting a couples couplet fund raiser.

Doubtless we would all benefit, fingers counting syllables
don’t hold guns, scientists formulating Fibonacci rhymes
won’t built better bombs. All could be with the world, you know,
when even dog walkers are busy dreaming up haiku’s.


inspired by James Reiss and his poem The Bureau of Missing Persons"