March Archer Poet Rhyme

Beginner Pottery

there’s a man in a suit clutching his sanity 
there’s a man wearing sandals and gripping the clay
there’s a wild, brewing, undying calamity
there’s a part of him that knows that this isn’t the way 

as he’s dipping his fingers into the basin 
the sensual shaping of a vase or a plate 
something miraculous about his creation
something that tells us this man will be great

flaunting his hands to all of the peasants 
he makes them beg for a dime of his time 
they’re shaking with rage while they wait for his presence 
how can it enrage you if it is divine?

there’s a girl at the easel with soot on her face
she’s stood still like a madman, just scribbling away 
i hate her for being and taking up space
but there’s nothing that could make my hatred okay

and yet it persists, yet it’s still there
i dream of her failing and failing again 
i look at her art, i compare and compare 
and then i’m too scared to pick up my pen

i’d like to crack open her skull and just take a bite 
let me worry about the tossing and turning 
it won’t matter that i can’t sleep in the night 
if i’m busy creating, if i’m too busy working

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