mofo' rises again--a new poem

the beautiful
fucked-up man
is at it again:
having risen
once again,
he sits
at the keyboard,
writes another
poem,
peanut butter
sandwich
at his side,
his woman
nearby,
and a child
just this side
of womanhood
laughing
to beat
the band.

it’s another day
of ‘I love you’s’
and misbegotten
dreams;
another day
that the sun shines
on the just
and the unjust;
another day,
just to get
a few more words
down on paper,
just to
get
through
another day,
so as
not to feel
like another day’s
been wasted.

a mofo
will not be
beholden
to mundane
existences
and on-the-job
drudgery;
will not be
contained
by the whims
of others
who think
they know
better than
he;
like
a caged bird,
a mofo’s
gotta sing,
even if
it is
only on paper;
even if
no one else
sees it.
other than
the love
of a good woman
and a child
more talented
than he,
other than
perhaps
the camaderie
of a few good
friends
and the
acceptance
of family;
maybe even
other than
the unmitigated
grace
of a
silent God,
it’s the only
fucking reason
to rise
and face
another day.

© 2011 Joseph Powell