the library stares back blankly
full of arcana and children’s stories
some nights you look for poems
the universe stares back hungry
waiting for you to step wrong
speak stupidly, or write
with mind as empty as the space
between stars, as well as we can tell
your mother reminds you that you
hated poetry in high school
a male friend spins a basketball
on his index finger and asks you “busy?”
he says he saw that woman you watched
all night at the bar last week
and never asked her for a dance
down at the courts “take a chance tonight?”
he dares and dribbles on your porch
what can you say? you go with him
and watch her all night again
return to shower and go to bed
and stare into the maw behind the ceiling
still sure that somewhere past those teeth
there lurks a poem
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