Do you mind outsourcing to me-

What you always wanted to say, 

But couldn’t find a way. 

Listen, I can write that letter for you,

Make those passions renew. 

 

I’m really good at it, 

With that decent-sized wit;

And not just it…

I’m also good at saying things I don’t mean,

I’m sure you must have seen; 

Or heard, 

My unremitting love for ‘the word’. 

I can help; help with-

That letter you’ve been meaning to write for long, 

Handwoven, or an email-

For that breathtaking female.

 

With that crooked tooth of hers-

That so impossibly moved you to verse.

I can tell her, with unremitting charm– 

Tell her: 

How in known human history, there’s no worse cook,

And how she needs to finish writing that half-abandoned-book.

Tell her how tedious she is to deal with, 

But still – somehow – less tedious than anyone else, 

At-least-this side of the galaxy. 

Tell her,

How effortlessly she took to Audible – 

On the car stereo – on the way to work-

Over that brain-numbing chatter of the radio station.

In fact, how you both let go of the life-clutter, 

And took up reading ‘The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter’

 

You made Darwin turn slightly in his grave, 

Evolution within a single life, you must be kidding.

 

You were like poetry to each other,  

Distillation of thought, and life.

I’d also talk about: 

your dimly lit study, 

That solitary wooden bed in the corner, 

Small, yet so infinite.

And, the books-

If Hemingway was a room, 

It would be the one that you guys lived-in,

Minimalist, 

Just the tip of the iceberg- 

Concealing the enormous mountain –

a mountain that was always brewing, 

Inside of both of you….

With so much to discover-on the inside, 

You both clearly didn’t want to be weighed down. 

On being loosely held together, 

By those dusty volumes,

Reams of thought and reason, 

Well punctuated by something more primeval,

and, so on and so forth…

I’d write all this, and more, 

in that letter,  

But – trust me-

in order for me to do that better, 

Certainly better than this poem – shitty, 

And come up with something classier and witty;

I need to ‘feel’ and not just express….

Words, my friend, are the carriers of thought, 

Not cheap merchandise, which can be sold and brought. 

Can I get those too? 

The feelings, I mean. 

For a day, or two? 

Don’t get me all wrong,

don’t like at me like that (laughs) 

I’m not doing this for me; 

Though, it’s been sometime, you see-

That I really felt this,

or

anything….