Not another love poem

no, I will not speak to you of
summer breezes
white sandy beaches
long
slow
walks
in the rain
erotic daydreams
or
hot, steamy nights
of passion.
I will not name a song
after you
nor write an ode to
your body.
I will not describe
the smell of your hair
the color of your skin
the touch of your lips
nor
the taste of your “nectar”
I will not sing the lament
of losing you
nor the joy
of your
eventual return.
I will not pen a scribe about
your hot
wet
you-know-what
nor will i write about
our first time
together
and how electric
it was
because this is not another love poem.

i will write about
your
sunday-morning-made-from-scratch
pancakes,
toe rings that shine
in the check-out line
and
hair that you
let me wash.
I will sing praises
to
the way you tolerate
my ego
and how you
accept me
as I am
even when I don’t
reciprocate
or
of the way
you tell your mother,
“No, he’s too tired
to take you to
the store right now.”
I will record forever
the strength
and power
of our
day to day
existence together
because of the
realness
of you.
I will speak of
the way our
daughters
look
and
act in public
as they emulate
their role model
I will shout to the world
of your willingness to
carry a nation on your back
or a carbine on your shoulder.
I will write an epic
about the tear
you shed
when you saw
the police hit
another mother’s son
or about how you
rub my feet
for no other reason
then the fact that
they’re mine
because
this is not another love poem.


© 2005 swing first productions.