He was rough at the edges.
Most didn’t see it
because he was
otherwise smooth as silk.
But she knew it.
And she knew
what was coming next.
Well, how does this seem so far?
You can be honest.
It’s just a first draft,
though I already suspect
that it’s fatally flawed.
I wrote it in my sleep last night.
I have no idea who these characters are,
no inkling of what makes them tick.
I did try revising.
Here is draft two:
Because of Pietro’s southern charm,
his friends were oblivious
to his innate capacity for cruelty.
But Elouise had experienced his dark side
and dreaded what he was going to do.
Hmm, at least the people now have names.
But the story line is still the same.
This poem has no prospects.
I am going to relegate it
to my file labelled
"Hopeless and Pitiful Unfinished Poems.”
I must apologize.
Thanks for hanging in with me.
Here’s another poem
that I wrote while I was awake
and having a fish sandwich for lunch:
I do the Wordle to crank up my brain
When I solve it in four, I never complain
It’s much like the Jumble
They both make us humble
Most of all, they are what keep me sane
Now I’m confused.
Which should I pursue?
Asleep or awake?
Fifty-fifty? Neither?
I am curious to hear your thoughts.
