Ten-Minute Spill (work in progress)

“A bird in the hand can get lonely,”
Mother’s robotic voice whirs.
“If all the other kids jump off a cliff-”
But why should I listen to her?
She raised us with licks and no promise,
Spat out like watermelon seeds.
We’re floating downstream with no future;
Baby Moses in our leaky beds of reeds.
You can’t practice if there’s no preaching.
Little birds don’t fall far from the tree.

This results from a writing exercise by Rita Dove in the book “The Practice of Poetry.” The goal was ten lines in ten minutes beginning with an adage that is changed in some way. Not bad for a first effort I think and I’ll come back over time to revise it.

I’m Sorry

I didn’t intend to hurt you feelings like that.
I meant to say those things in a very different way.
I had imagined that before I spoke my piece,
I’d have time to pretty it up;
Choose just the right softening words,
Something appropriately multisyllabic.
Instead you forced the moment,
Startled the extremely rough first draft out of me
And I’m sorry but I don’t believe I should be judged
On something submitted without benefit of time for revision or polishing.
So let’s pretend one of us has just pressed ctrl + z
And try this again later.

Firefighter/Police Officer

Firefighter
saves cats and family
treasures, thought handsome though most
often he’s balding.

Police Officer
black moms don’t train their
boys to safely interact
with the firemen.

Buy A Thesaurus

You’ve “reframed” it, Mackenzie, okay?
Now you weren’t John’s “consensual” lover.
Hey, if you don’t mind
We’ll all put this behind
Us. Babe, you’re fifteen minutes? So over.

Boxers/Briefs

Boxers
to fall for a guy
who has cauliflower ears
is cheesy I know.

Briefs
you sit your mount well;
please, ease up on how freely
you’re using the crop.