Old Habits

I made a conscious decision not to write
poetry my entire first year teaching high school.
It seemed practical at the time, even wise—
like the decisions you make “for the health
insurance” or because “it’s a trustworthy
[insert auto, appliance, boyfriend here].”

But here I go again, picking up old habits.

It could be worse, I could be a songwriter.
In Nashville, they tumble from candy machines
in strip malls and Chinese restaurants in small
handfuls for a quarter a pop, and you feel sorry
for them and take them home with you
by the dozens in your pockets, only to regret it
later when they write songs for you
and you feel obliged to clap and feed them.

At least this way, no one will take me
too seriously—teacher, poet, blogger, whatever!
Or if they do, I’m one of “those people,”
who carry a journal like this green one—
guess I should say laptop so as not to date myself—
and who sit alone, out of choice, in places
where coffee and stronger beverages are served.
Oops—just spilled my laté…will continue poem later.