Shows over.
After the credits a clip runs
emulating old projector films’
look and sound.
The words show Ten Thirteen Productions
and a kid’s voice shouts
“I made this!”
Remember? It ends
the closing credits for “X-Files.”
It caught my attention
and stuck with me.
It looked like it would be dumb luck
that something like that would work;
Or maybe the construct didn’t
and the only one impressed is me.
I listened to the lovely rendition
sung by Ella Fitzgerald
Live in Holland.
And I’m reminded
it’s love year round
that hangs me up the most.
Reaching for a poem of love, or not,
I’m brought to a grinding halt because
“love” entreats me to think of romance
at which I’m worse than retarded.
So bad am I until
I can’t even give you
a love sucks poem.
Because,
as elusive as it all is to me
as infrequently as it visits me
in my quietest moments
I still hope to come into it.
Then I can write about
the happy circumstance of it.
I once wrote a poem entitled Mine
by request for a wedding.
If you knew the days and hours
spent sweating to find it,
you’d probably suggest I skip this
or talk about puppies or relatives instead.
But, alas I can’t as
I’m intrigued by my personal challenge.
Besides, from time to time
it’s good to know where I stand
with romantic language.
And unfortunately I see
I’m still not where I want to be yet.