WHY A POET
I don't really mind …
that I was assigned to bake a layer cake
with a recipe long proved incomplete,
and tasteless for all of that.
I no longer care …
that others only see the swirled frosting
and ordered placement of dainty rosebuds,
made of plastic and poison dye.
I am no longer bothered …
with instruction to look in a candy store
for rusting nuts and bolts and baling wire,
to hold my brief life together.
But I do mind a bit …
when I am so quickly judged perverse
for ordering key lime pie or ice cream
not found on the offered menu.
And do frown a might …
when told my only choices (lucky at that)
are 'tween dancing with sheep 'round a cesspool
or trudging with cockhold lemmings.
But I can still laugh …
for being a poet grants immunity
from excessive ridicule and punishment,
since you know that I am crazy.