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I wonder if I could
Persuade my wife to let me be

A poet

I’d work my shift each day;
A strait eight
Two tens and a half.

No outward sign of effort
Would convince her it’s work.
No toil beyond the finger-to-chin pensive stare
And random, intermittent bursts of typing.

Meetings scheduled
With myself,
For dreaming of similes and metaphors;
Teetering dangerously on the edge
Of creating hyperboles.

Oh the thrill!

At the end of a long day
Our dinner conversation could be;
“Do you think you’ll get that promotion dear?”
To which I would optimistically reply;
“Not yet. But, I’ve got my fingers crossed.
I learned today I can apply
For a copyright online.
It's only 35 dollars.
My stuff would be
In the Library of Congress!”

I’d chase some peas across my plate
Until I gathered enough for a bite then ask
“Do you have 35 bucks I could borrow…”
...just until I get paid?”

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