(To J.)
You send me your poems,
I’ll send you mine.
So what if your songs are better?
I’m lyrical too in my way.
So what if you never pay attention
To the time,
Though time means everything to you.
So what if I’m always cognizant
Of the time,
Though time means nothing to me.
So what if I’m forever
Blown and buffeted about by the winds of chance,
While you’re so secure
In your comfortable cocoon spun by God himself.
You know as well as I that
Security can take a flying leap.
No matter that you are
A girl from a different world;
I’m mister Adaptable Soul
The one can make the two converge.
Don’t think for a moment
That you are my Mother Confessor,
Even if I do tell you that
I like to smoke a cigar now and then
Because it makes me feel the rake.
You and I together —
Like a picture hanging,
Slightly crooked on the wall.
Like being on the verge
Of a breakthrough long in coming,
But never really getting there.
You and I together —
Always searching for the rare and unusual,
Yet both hating this
Labyrinth of lies called life by some.
You and I — such little words;
But little people we are not.
You send me your poems,
I’ll send you mine;
I’ll send a picture too
If you will send me one of you.
—Bill Matheny