I try to write a poem that doesn’t rhyme,
but dammit every time these phrases flow,
from where I do not know, and I’ll not
be the one, when asked to dance, to say no.
Bear with my antiquated steps, though
I am light on two left feet, I’ve never let
it bother me, this being obsolete.
To be fair I know it’s rare this day in age,
I too prefer blank verse, and mean
no sacrilege.  My acquaintances
all say it’s that I was born too late,
I should have roamed the woods
with Boone and hunted all I ate.
I should have danced the firelight dance
with beating drums and hallow chants.
I should have slept on straw
and saw each night the darkness fall
and count the meter of the sky
as the rhyming stars spun by.