Saturday, November 12, 2011

starting a poem

You are alone. Then there's a knock 
On the door. It's a word. You
Bring it in. Things go
OK for a while. But this word 

Has relatives. Soon
They turn up. None of them work.
They sleep on the floor, and they steal
Your tennis shoes. 

You started it; you weren't
Content to leave things alone.
Now the den is a mess, and the
Remote is gone. 

That's what being married 
Is like. You never receive your
Wife only, but the
Madness of her family. 

Now see what's happened?
Where is your car? You won't 
Be able to find 
The keys for a week.

~ Robert Bly
art by Janet Sobel


erin said...