I’m painfully jealous
Not so much of your poetry
But just that fact that you have time for it
To be able to see the world my way
AND wrestle, marinate, and birth the words to express it
It’s not like I sold out
For a mortgage and 401(k) and 9 to 5 dead soul
Up to me and I’d still be in poverty
And in love with my world
With Time to digest every morsel moment
All I did was have KIDS
And how dare you merely pass by
The sight of them or a story read
Before you retire to the Poet’s Tower
“Entitled” to be insightful by the sound bite of Childhood
Where’s a piece for me?
Where’s my moment, my time, my pause?
At what price have those who inspire you come to this world?
The price that this, my first poem of five years, rambles?
The price of five years silent from my voice?
Isn’t this why only men are Presidents
Dominate the published poets
And accomplished scholars
Where did the women go?
Raising the world while you steal the moment to inspire
By: Laurie Simpkinson
© 2004 Laurie M Simpkinson. All rights reserved.