Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Half an Aspirin
If that’s all it takes
To steady the tear
In your eye
I will ask the doctor
For sure I, neither, wish
For anything to happen
At a stroke
Leaving me or you
Without the hope of a pen
Or the laughter
Of again making love
