poem of the day 04.26.11

daffodils

i guess i’ll write
about the daffodils now

the ones poking out of people’s lawns
like some unholy apparition of spring

it’s the daffodils or nothing for me

i’m tired of writing about people

people bore me
worse than a hollywood film

i think i’ll leave my poor wife alone
cut the sad sacks on the bus a break

stop waiting on the people at work
to do something of literary merit

i’ll use the daffodils for inspiration

i’ll pull genius out of each and every petal

because i can’t get anything
out of the construction worker
who threatened to rearrange my face last thursday

or the guys in the bar
making love to pints of beer and hd television

for me it’s the daffodils or bust

the daffodils so erect on some verdant patch of land

the daffodils swaying in a light spting breeze

constant

annual

better than the stench of mankind
better than that cop running the red light

or those dead pigs
stacked up outside the butcher shop

it’s got to be the daffodils

the yellow ones

the cream ones

the white ones

whatever color daffodils come in

i’m done with flesh and bone
blood and cruelty

i’ll make my name writing about
the daffodils now

that is, until they let me down too

then i’ll be down on my knees
congregating with the robins

searching for earth worms
and that immortal next line.