Lost Poems
by Mark Waldrop
The ride home after
Basketball and a little beer;
That's when the best poems happen.
Poems pin-prick sharp
Puncturing through dulled
Senses while streetlamps pass
Overhead.
They find their way inside you
But they don't stick.
Poems left back somewhere
On the cracked black pavement
Behind.
I don't know them any more
They're old old friends
They are familiar but
Who knows where they get lost --
Basketball and a little beer;
That's when the best poems happen.
Poems pin-prick sharp
Puncturing through dulled
Senses while streetlamps pass
Overhead.
They find their way inside you
But they don't stick.
Poems left back somewhere
On the cracked black pavement
Behind.
I don't know them any more
They're old old friends
They are familiar but
Who knows where they get lost --
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Great poem. Inspiration is as temperamental as you describe it.