(untitled #22) Poem by bob barci

With all this free time I’ve got
why can’t I think of a poem?
As usual, I keep coming up blank.
Why is that?
I’ve got the time to write,
but nothing to write about.
Strange how I only come up with ideas
when I’m too busy to write them down.
Well, not really strange - more like annoying.
Why do the ideas come when I don’t have time for them?
And speaking of annoying -
I find that it annoys the heck out of me
to finally writing down a poem
only to get interrupted,
and when I finally get back to the poem,
the thought, the feel, the concentration, the flow,
of it is so far gone and lost,
that it’s impossible to get it back.
Who needs a half finished poem?
And even worse is a poem
whose conclusion doesn’t quite have anything to do with the rest.
I’m better off with no poem at all.
So, with all the free time I had today,
I wrote about not being able to think of something to write.