How To Kill a Poem

(A cautionary tale)

Photo by Fabrizio Conti on Unsplash

I killed a nascent poem today;
it hopped upon my shoulder.
Cocked its head in a curious way;
became a little bolder.

I coaxed it to my open palm,
could feel its restless toes;
assured it that I meant no harm;
that’s how seduction grows.

What happened next is far from clear,
how things between us changed.
I pounced upon its innocence
and sought to rearrange

the placement of its feathers,
the brightness of its eyes.
The shape and substance of its song
I coldly criticized.

The urge to overmaster
I no longer could resist.
It tried to fly away from me;
I squeezed it in my fist.

The minutes passed.

My hand grew cold,
for it held only death.

(so)

I tossed it on the dead poem pile
where it may join the rest.