Discussions Over Coffee

Discussions over coffee

He wanted to know what drives me
So I told him about my parents,
My nephew and my sister.
He says “Family is always tough,”
Smirking, I agree with him.
“But it makes for great poetry.”

He asks what inspires me
“Nothing, lately. Maybe it’s all the rain?
Usually the words just find me, like they belong to me.”
I hear my phone beep and I hope its inspiration calling.

He scans over my poems,
“You wrote this?”
“Yeah, I did,” he wants to know my inspiration.
I grimace, “It comes from all around me.”
And he waits for me to say more.
But I want the poem to speak for itself.

He smiles and says:
“I like books with pictures, less to read”
And we share a laugh for completely different reasons.

“Maybe it’s all the weed,” he says.
“Or not enough of it…” but my thought trails off.
I check my mind for new words,
but none answer the door.

“But if you can’t write when you want, how will you be a success?”
I cut my eyes and flatten my tone.
“I’m just trying to make ends meet,
Before the weed burns or the soup runs out.
I’m too busy running for the bus,
On a rainy Wednesday morning-
To pay attention to the subtle things”
He looked confused as I grabbed my coat to leave.

Waiting for the bus I wonder:
Did I miss my inspiration again?
I check my watch and loose my train of thought
But I know there is somewhere I had to be.