Writing a Poem

If I am an architect of poems, why do

I find words like “weed wackerstone,”

so hysterically funny? The many references

I could make to that typographical error

are endless.

I’m giddy, I’m swollen with joy as I contemplate

writing a poem with a hero named thus, or the town

barber, or the small-town mafioso. Of course,

there is always what it’s supposed to be: a weed

used to wack her stone!

I need to be released from this funny pit where

I’ve plunged, at my own risk, looking for fuel

for my poem. Perhaps I could call on my old friend,

Weed, to use his spinning string to form a ladder

so I can climb out. Then the stone might also come

in handy–as that’s what I’m going to add “ed” to

and get that way when my foot touches the ground.

jackie: 7/14/12