I Don’t Do Poetry

I don’t write poetry.
I have never gotten
A grasp on iambic pentameter.
Poetry eludes me, poetry confuses
Me to the point where I get
Lost in trying to read
The lines so they flow,
But alas, this always fails.

Poets, to me, evoke images
Of coffee shops and snapping
Fingers, of berets and black
Turtlenecks, of hep cats
And cool mamas.

I have three copies of
Dante’s Inferno and have not
Read through any of them.

To all the poets out there,
Thank you for doing something
I cannot do.
And violets are blue.

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