I have to disclose
That my first attempt at a poem
To satisfy this day of writing
Went to the bin
With all the violence
Of Clyde Drexler throwing one down
In a lane full of giants.
I tried to squeeze ideas
From the great well of the news
Where the best fiction really happens,
But today the ideas refused
To flow from my pen
All I had was Hoffa, who could not be found
And the Polk County Pot pilot
Who got away
Despite the loss of his plane
And the bales of weed
He landed up on Treat Mountain.
I must share
That I sought irony
In a congressman proposing
A national day of humiliation
When on this day
Presidential candidates sound like kids
Walking around an elementary school playground
Slinging the insults without a care
For their image.
I wish one would make fun of another’s mother.
Then I would have something to write about.

All the ideas I had earlier
Have taken leave and
I’m a little frustrated

There was something about
Buying a smoker’s house
Before purchasing one where the owner fried onions
Because I detest onions so

There was something else about
Which offered a greater reward,
Reading the book
Or watching the movie

Early on, a mid-twenties dude
Tried to sway my independent, albeit, liberal leanings
To conservative thought
On guns, health care, and terror. (Snoozerama)

I suppose the ideas were fleeting
Maybe I should carry a journal
To keep track of all this stuff

Man, I had a piece of paper
With the best line for a poem
And that most excellent idea which
Is sitting on my desk
In my dark locker room office
Doing me no good right now
I’ve been trolling the papers
Hoping for an idea as good
But all I’m getting is thoughts
Of epidemics, elelctions, and encampments
For terrorists, armies, and refugees

Such drudgery makes for a heavy tomb
So I think I’ll focus on remembering the idea
That rests in mystery at school
Wondering how that handwritten line
Inspired by something about deadlifts
Could have anything to do with the way
My students tolerated my discussion
About scholarly writing
Or the way my other class chipped away
At an ambitious workout
With only a promise of dodgeball
As a reward
Both bringing inspiration to their frustrations
Which is really what school should be about
But alas, I can’t remember
What was on that scrap piece of paper

Maybe tomorrow…