Poetry Porch: Poetry


By Ruth Arnison

Last night
I went to bed with Billy Collins, but
when the rain arrived

I tossed him onto the floor,
closed my eyes and pictured
these other poems . . .

the rain
staccatoing bullet points
on the roof,

the wind
shivering leaves into
apostrophes, and

the distant waves
unfurling giant commas
onto the shore.

In the morning
I scooped him off the carpet
and apologised,

at least my friend
it was better than a night
on the tiles.

My words fell flat
into a silence.
You know, reader

is often
the trouble with poetry.

Copyright © 2015 by Ruth Arnison.