I don’t want to write bad, forced, poor, weak, care-worn poems, but I won’t write any good ones if I don’t lift this pen. The embarrassment I might feel for lackluster lines is far less than the shame of empty notebooks. I don’t always like what flows when I open the gates, but I am sure glad the current is live and so am I.
Tie a knot
I ran away to join the zoo
Hoping a life contained would calm me.
The segregation hit me first
Isolated exclusively with those of my stripe
Drove my thirst for diverse scents and opinion.
Next the monotony of the landscape bore into my brain
The well-meaning efforts of the keepers
Bears the mark of folks who go home at night.
The blandness of the food and music
Lent nothing to the experience
And antiseptic could drive anyone wild.
The final blow, the one which struck constantly and coldly
Was the steady stream of observers
Just waiting to be entertained.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault