They say you're supposed to write
about things you truly know,
things you've had experience with,
and then the words will flow.
But as I sit with pen in hand
and ponder my predicament--
who would want to read a poem
about Tinker Toys and lint?
Silly Putty stuck in the vacuum,
the thrills of chicken pox,
lunch bags left at the bus stop,
or the dryer that eats socks,
no room in the cart for groceries,
dogs chewing an expensive shoe--
When it really comes right down to it,
what I know, you don't want to.