To Evan

I think I'm ready to write some poetry,

but not now.

Right now, I'd rather think about the end of summer and Mexican food,

and a salty margarita on the rocks.

But then, I remember your golden, little boy hair flying in the wind

as you chased soccer balls down the field.



I'm almost ready to write some poetry,

but not yet.

I'd rather see a "chick-flick" with a friend, or take Nala

for a sweaty, quick stepping walk around the park.

But, then I remember how you caught lizards in the back yard

and let them go after a brief, scientific exchange of glances.



I wish I could write some poetry,

but, I'd rather check my email, or pull rangy weeds from the flower bed,

or fold laundry, or do most anything than think about you, wasting your life

and mind away on your addictions.