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Sometimes I write a real stinker.
Sometimes I write a nice gem.
More often than not, it’s a mixture of both
that somehow escapes through my pen.
I know what to do with the good ones
and the stinkers will all crash and burn,
but what to do with the ones that are both
is something that I can’t discern.
Right now they all go in drawers
male and female, they must multiply.
When I open the drawers, it seems there are more
than I recall putting inside.
I hope there’s a poetry storehouse.
If there is, I must go today.
I’ve run out of drawers, and some smell pretty bad
yet they’re too good to just throw away.
C.J. Heck
Read poems about / on: sometimes, poetry, today, hope, running
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C.J. Heck
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