April is the cruelest month. Producing poets out of the dead air. Lots of poets. All churning out poems of varying quality. One every day.
Here is my opener.
SHRINK IT AND PINK IT
Do you mind, if I post this poem?
I’m sure yours is better
But if you could find the time to read it
I’d be very appreciative.
I feel guilty about leaving the ironing in a wrinkled pile;
The food, uncooked in the freezer;
The children to their own devices.
I promise I will make up this time in housewifery duties
And will attempt to “have it all” by writing at midnight
While the family sleeps.
I apologize for stepping forth with my thoughts
Imperfectly formed, I admit.
But I will deliver them in a well-modulated voice.
And I undertake to remain as quiet, small and soft as possible
Whilst diffidently offering my services as writer.
Just if you could see your way clear to allowing me some space
Just a corner somewhere.
Away from the power.