Where am I going (Suzanne’s Poem)

to find the peace

and quiet to write my poetry?

 

That’s what I need,

not my teenaged son’s bedroom

not my couching with a boney

whining dog pressed against my leg.

 

So, I could just toss them

out, like that:

one, two, three.

 

Throw-away poems

you call them,

and I don’t even have one

I wish I had three,

I could throw

one away.

 

(Suzanne’s poem transcribed as she spoke)