It's Still Life

This Is What Happens When You Give Your Poem A Voice

Hey, you, poet.
Listen.
Blackbird
in the laurel bush.
Notice that
oak
sprouting in the grass.
Mugwort. Ragweed.
Butterfly. Moth.

You say, “It’s missing the It.
Where’s the drunken surprise.
The toy surprise at the bottom
of the box.”

The It is the flow. There’s no flow,
except for your leaking pen, and
when you lean over to write,
your nose drips.

You look for light, and then
complain that it’s too bright.
So you go dark. Too dark.
Hey you,
you’re going too dark.

So you sit in the garden,
holding your pen. Staring
at clouds that you want
to rename, but surprise …

the camera caught you
picking at your nose.

©️ Misky 2020 – Miz Quickly’s 18 July Prompt
This is a draft version. Photo by Anton Darius on Unsplash