Apologies to the Greats

Poetry is not my thing

so I know not what to compare thee to
(and what’s with the word “thee”
why can’t I say “you” like a normal person)
is this thing supposed to rhyme?
What goes with “eyes” – fries, lies, dies…
no that’s not it, I’m full of sighs.

Poetry is not my thing
I could say – i carry your heart with me
(but wait, don’t you need it;
it seems important that it remains within your chest)
should all these stanzas have the same
number of
lines?

Poetry is not my thing
perhaps I’ll live ever—or else swoon to death
(why must I die to prove my love;
can one really die from swooning?)
this is hopeless
far worse than staring at a blank canvas
at the museum of modern art
and wondering why it’s worth millions
trying not to slap the poseur standing next to me
who blathers on about depth within layers of white
and how it’s a bold political statement
and… ooops, sorry. Got carried away

Poetry is not my thing
so I apologize in advance
for the lack of flowery words and
analogies that make little sense –
such as – amorous birds of prey
(The Google says that’s one of the 10 best
poems of the English language. Really.)
clearly ’tis not my forte
using language and couplets and alliteration
to tell you how I feel

and thus I show rather than tell
when I straighten your tie
and watch boring sportsing events without complaint
when I LOL at jokes that barely deserve a smile
or suggest we go to that chicken wing restaurant you like
(even though the only thing on the
menu I can eat there is a sorry, droopy salad)

I wonder if you’ve noticed that, though poetry is not my thing,
Love is.