I wish I liked poetry. I wish I were the type that wore turtleneck sweaters and hung around in the poetry section at Barnes & Noble.
Oh, better yet…
I wish I was a pink-cheeked, Irish dude named Patrick with curly hair and twinkling green eyes that hung around the poetry section in Barnes & Noble talking to impoverished, artsy types wearing suede blazers.
And…
If I were that guy, I’d go home to my house in the foothills and sit by the fire with a slim volume of Keats, sipping a rare cognac from a chipped Waterford tumbler and dreaming well into the night.
But…
I am me, hillbilly, hick and fruitcake extraordinaire.
And...
And...
I hate poetry.
2 comments:
Yet somehow, every time you write, it is poetry to my ears.
Your writing is most definitely poetry in my opinion...
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