One day
The little boy dressed in a communion suit
Asked me to write him a poem
“Why don’t you write a poem about…”
He looked around the place
Thinking… thinking…
“My favourite sweets?”
I shook my head, stared at my feet
“My favourite sport?”
I had to inform him that I wasn’t the sort
He smiled
Dug his hand in his pocket
Took out the money he’d made
“I’ll pay you anything…
Why don’t you write a poem about
My favourite sport?!”
So that was that
I took a note
Told him I would
Of course only as soon as if I could
Mom says you can do it with ease
That most of the time
The rhyming’s a breeze.”
I smiledWho was the poet now?
I handed him the note
Asked him to write one for me
He put his money back in his pocket
Thought about where he could buy a pencil and pad
& went like a rocket

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