Poeming: Of pens and wheels.

This particular poem is one of those my husband would say is not a poem, and i guess i agree, it sounds more like just the traffic in my head.( Maybe i'll put together a whole book of my "poems" and call it just that, "The Traffic in My Head.") Anyway, i wrote this out and then spent hours trying to form the line length on the right to be shaped like wheels (that was the prompt today over at Poetic Asides, to write a wheel poem) showing the circular nature of life, but alas, it kept coming out looking more like boobs. i have abandoned that idea for its presentation here, because, as most men will tell you, boobs are too distracting.


OF PENS AND WHEELS.


My mother

used to say “where is the pen that

 is supPOSED to be by the phone?”

and I would think, gee,what is her

problem, she makes such a big deal

out of nothing, and I would answer

her, “I don’t know, why?” all inno-

cently and she would say “because

the pen is supPOSED to stay by the

phone!” and so in my adult life I

have solved this problem by buy-

ing copious amounts of pens and

placing them by the phone /by the

computer /by the kitchen, and

when I want one I think I should

be able to pick up at least ONE of

those many pens but all I can find

is a dead Sharpie and an emery

board and I say “where are all the

pens that are supPOSED to be by

the phone?” and my children shrug

their shoulders and look at me like,

gee, what is her problem, she makes

such a big deal out of nothing, and

they answer “I don’t know, why?”

and look at me all innocently and I

say “because there are supPOSED to

be pens by the phone!” and I sigh

and realize the wheel of life has

turned full circle and I have no

real answers and have turned into

my mother.


jle 2012