any requests?

what would i do if you asked me to write a poem for you?

would i search my heart, would i search the stars, is there a “poetry for dummies,” would i read sonnets for days on end to feel the rhythm of their words?

maybe i’d just wander the avenues late at night and collect the fleeting images of my brain that have something, somehow to do with you, though i don’t know always where they come from. that might get challenging, as i’d probably get lost. my sense of direction, especially when distracted…

maybe i would begin roses are red, violets are blue… shoe, boo, tutu(?), pursue, woo, moo, toodle-oo… no, no that just won’t do.

i guess i would ask you… what  k i n d  of poem are you looking for? or if it seemed that i wasn’t allowed to ask, i would think on it for a while, figure it out, narrow it down myself. but if i could ask you that question, i would like to ask you that question, then i would.

either way.

then, i’d sit down, and i’d write you a story.

a poem, fictional

there once was a little girl and her coffee. 

she drowned in the mug every morning, sometimes as late as two in the afternoon. 

while she walked, and she talked, and she thought about movement… really she was counting down her minutes to coffee. 

but one day someone asked her, “wait now, why don’t you stop?” so she cried and she cried and she felt so alone. 

she knew there was no way, she was here to stay, in her chair with her coffee and her hair all a mess. 

she’d sit and she’d drink, while looking at all those pictures. they called and they called to her about life and about strife and about happenings abound outside.  

but there she was with her coffee.  her coffee. her chair. her hair. her head hurt. 

it hurt and it hurt, and she just couldn’t groove. there were things to get done, and mountains to move. 

and then there was a moment, it came from nowhere, she swore. she finished a sip, not even the whole cup, and then she was up. she was up and she ordered a pair of sneakers. online, of course, for she was still, still in her chair. 

the box, it was so light, it came on friday, the ups website was right. 

it was hard for the girl, but she unwrapped them without blinking. she wove the laces in and they calmed her. it was like a snake charmer, in reverse thinking.  

out the door she went. the shoes were comfortable and the coffee beans stayed in the fridge. she didn’t look back, there would have been too many things to look at. and it worked.

to this day, the little girl can’t drink the stuff. no lattes, no sweet miniature cups of espresso, no coffee dates or morning meetings. tea sometimes make her cringe too, but she getting better with that, and she will, truly, drink it for you. 

the sneakers she lovingly nailed up onto the wall, the holes, the mud, the magical laces and all.