A Poet's Poem


If it takes me all day,

I will get the word freshened out of this poem.


I put it in the first line, then moved it to the second,

and now it won’t come out.


It’s stuck. I’m so frustrated,

so I went out to my little porch all covered in snow


and watched the icicles drip, as I smoked

a cigarette.


Finally I reached up and broke a big, clear spike

off the roof with my bare hand.


And used it to write a word in the snow.

I wrote the word snow.


I can’t stand myself.