' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' Huh! Poems! (For Onelia)

My poems are at that difficult stage teenagers. They sit around in my mind all day doing nothing except lying there. I remember when I gave birth to them they were so cute now they are just so annoying scoffing biscuits over the computer so the crumbs get stuck between the words leaving their dirty metaphors scattered all over the sofa borrowing my similes without telling me corrupting words too young to know better. I long for them to leave home go find a book of their own live in a little poetry magazine or the tip of somebody’s tongue. Instead they go to all night raves stagger home their adjectives all wide-eyed their nouns intoxicated (I just hate it) misquoting themselves or thinking they were written by someone more famous. “We wish we were Onelia’s babies! ” They scream & holler! “Well...you ain’t! ” I scream back at them screaming back at me. So now I have left my brain upon the coffee table with the dirty magazines. They’re welcome to it. “I’ve given up the ghost! ” “You’ll be back! ” they boast. “Don’t you use that easy rhyme on me! ” I laugh at them floundering now not knowing where the next line is... ...coming from. Huh! Poems...who’d have them!