He carries an umbrella if there is
More than a fifty precent chance of rain.
If it pours, I just get wet,
And stomp in mud puddles for good measure.
He thinks his words out carefully
Before he ever opens his mouth,
Where I am ruled by emotion and say things
Without thinking at all,
Then find myself constantly making amends.
He is linear and I am abstract.
Sometimes I wish I could be more like him,
More sensible, logical, realistic-grounded.
But I think with my heart, and react from my gut,
And my head usually has little to do
With any of my major decisions.
I wonder sometimes if he looks down on me,
Thinks I'm insane, being the way I am.
Yeah-he probably does.
I can't say I blame him.
As a child, while my classmates
Were learning equations, I was busy,
Gazing out windows, and letting
My imagination run wild.
I still do that. All the time.
But...poetry doesn't make him weep,
And great art doesn't send his heart racing,
The way it does mine.
And I wouldn't trade that,
Not for all the common sense in the world.
So there it is, when it comes down to it,
I like who I am just fine,
And I respect, and admire who he is too,
Very much so, and I don't want to change him,
I just wish...I just wish...
He'd stomp in a mud puddle now and then.
Sandra Brennan's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Mud Puddles by Sandra Brennan )
- Willy to Jinny., Joseph Skipsey
- The Clock Is Ticking, Kyle Schlicher
- Mystery, Naveed Khalid
- Silently Tiptoeing, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Man What Is He?, Joseph Skipsey
- Climbing Stairs, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Today I Thought About You, Kyle Schlicher
- المسير الطويل, مالك حداد
- To Be Inside You, Kyle Schlicher
- You, Colin Ian Jeffery
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