It’s Better than Picking My Nose

I wrote poems at stoplights. So what? Feeling creative feels alive, even if it was only for a few minutes in a car. It’s like sex, except in the front seat, and I never got a cramp. Plus, it was free. However, you’re bound to be equally bored.

light 1
Streams to oceans
shallow and deep,
I flow too-
I scream. I weep.
I judge you unfairly
as you float on my waves.

light 2
There are trees out there
that never lose their leaves
despite cold and wind
and possible ridicule
from an exposed birch
that sways naked and free
with nothing to hide
anymore

light 3
Rabbits run across dams
and Updikes
throwing aside browning greens
like an unsolicited literary reference,
and they smile at their own absurdity

light 4
I wrote four poems
in the car today
in little less than twenty minutes
and perhaps this is the worst of them
or perhaps it is the best.
If that is the case
then the others must suck
because this isn’t so much a poem
as it is a reminder
that I only wrote three poems
in the car today
__________________________
And that’s not all. I hit another light:

Silent somber shuffles
of a forgotten box-step
restless as leaves
floating obliviously
over bared souls
and buried secrets-
some birds fly
south for the winter
and some forget
how to come home.
In the next song
I will dip you
if you promise
to think of me.
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