I thought to myself, as I was getting something to eat, I'm going to need a fork This thought happened so quickly and subconsciously, For it is something easy to think, or rather just know And it happens to everyone over the age of perhaps three-years -old Who has ever needed a fork
I knew I needed a fork This was very simple
But, where are all the forks? Why are there none left in the drawer? Maybe in the dishwasher. None there, either? Are all the forks in this entire house *****?
And I continued looking a little longer.
After these few--but frustrating--minutes passed by, I had become so focused and determined to find this fork, That I forgot to remember the very point of finding it
What was I getting to eat, again?
Cereal.
Spoon.
Right.
Here's one.
And this is why my mind is capable of the type of thinking that it really takes To find inspiration, and not wait for it to come to you
I may be alone in this feeling, but I think that a real poet has either a deathly, focused mind, or a pathetic, rambling one. Hope someone enjoys this.
dedicated to Ricky A., my brother of a friend, and a great writer.