Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

I throw down poems onto a page, and look at them fondly.
Some glare at me, others take a swift bite out of my neck.
Trying for attention.
I know it is not personal, so I let it slide.

Enthusiastic poetry always starts out with the words
“dancing and prancing” which is tedious now, but Trixie is stuck there.
Do I retire her? Fire her? Inspire her? Aspire to guide her gently?
It is a quandary. 

Rhymes I love, but they take a bit more work, for I
am compulsive enough to want each line to have exactly
the same amount of syllables. Often an impossible feat.
And yet, here I am, throwing tally marks all over my paper.

Someone asked me how I come up with ideas.
They land in my lap, on my shoulders, they hit me in the petootsie.
When I least expect it some of my most unlikeable co-workers
will run in to confide something, and voila. An idea is born.
I have an affinity toward making fun of co-workers 
silently, stealthily, behind their backs.
Or in front of their faces.
It matters not a whit.
They never see
themselves.

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