Unlike Sappho’s Dawn In Gold Sandals
for Llewellen, Heather, Cortney,
Sonia, D’Anthra, Olivia, Philip & Karen

a poem would come jogging by
across my page on muddy feet

I’d wake up then to follow it, to start my day

one sweet wrestles with another sweet

to sleep or to be up, out of bed
to be fully alive or to be dead, stiff

a poem would come jogging by
across my page on muddy feet

for me to follow, to start the day
urging me to get up, to go on

a poem pulls like a bicycle chain
like a tractor or bull dozer pulls

the force which pulls the planets round
pulls the minute hand, the hour hand

makes the clock tick, the watch tick
makes hearts beat

lungs empty, lungs fill

a poem would come jogging by
would cross my page on muddy feet

I‘d wake up to shake my fist at it
as it runs off, runs on


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
4:36 p.m. 13.07.09