1

I wrote a poem today.
It wasn't very good.
I poured a glass of water
to wash it down.

2

Standing in the kitchen,
I awoke suddenly,
ripples of broken glass
still spreading across the tile floor.

My feet were wet,
but unharmed.

3

I went to work today.
I brought a book with me
and spent most of the day
in the bathroom.

In the afternoon,
I wrote two pieces
of corporate poetry.

4

Sitting at my desk,
I awoke suddenly.
I answered the phone,
and my wife asked
when I was leaving.
I looked at the clock-
it was 6:03, and I had
forgotten to go home.

5

A poet-friend of mine
read the two poems
I had written at work.
"These are lifeless," he said.

I shrugged. "Of course they are."

"Maybe your boss will like them" he said.

6

My wife wanted to eat
a bowl of soup.
"Where are all the spoons?" she asked.

"They're gone," I said.

"All of them?"

"I bought some more."

"Well, where are those?"

"They're gone too."

7

I have sixteen poems,
each written out on a thin
slip of paper.
Each slip of paper
is rolled around
the handle of a spoon.

One by one,
I toss the spoons over the edge
and listen to each metallic cry
as the spoons bounce from
rock to rock.

Each poem gets swallowed
by the water below.

8

"Why spoons?" my wife asked.

"Poets like spoons.
You see them all the time.
Are you mad at me?"

"I'm worried about you."

I shrugged.

"And where did you do that, anyway?
We live on Long Island.
There aren't any cliffs."

9

They found the spoons today.
The poems were all gone,
dissolved and flushed away.

A guy I work with says:
"I think I was in the bathroom
when it happened.
I kept hearing this sound
like metal in the toilet
from the stall next to me."

10

"Why would someone
throw spoons in the toilet?" he asked.

"Beats me," I said.