Works in Progress
Even my children are unfinished poems
Trapped in the limbo of the giant pdf file
Containing all my cherished rough drafts.
Every morning I open them up
And read over what I have written,
Receiving them warily, uncertain if they’re ready
For the remorseless gaze of the world
What started out as my special little babies
Have become something almost recognizable
To everyone else as anyone else.
So many little edits and alterations
I can’t remember ever making
I should have left them alone
When they first spilled out
Now I’m stuck searching
For yet another flash
Of special imagery
Only the three of us can see
One more metaphor
For how afraid I always was
Of life until they came along
No, they’re not ready yet
The last part remains elusive
Leave me alone, Dad!
They’re always saying now
Go away, Dad!
They’re their own poems now
Insisting they finish themselves
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