The Poem Catcher

There she is!
No, there.
Fluttering like a butterfly,
dressed in rainbow metaphors
and radiant with simile.
Rising from my seat,
I lunge at her,
arms flailing,
grasping jealously,
desperately too
(lest you all spot her).
If only I can catch her
what a poem she will be.
Perhaps the best yet!
But she’s too elusive,
hovering mockingly
just beyond the net
of my imagination.
Dipping down, she's hiding now
in the sanctuary
of yesterday’s news,
and today’s bills, promises
and worries.


Later, I scythe through
that dense foliage
of commitments
and chase her to exhaustion.
Now she is mine!
I study her up close.
Not as pretty as I'd thought
(I've found ones like this before)
but good enough to keep, I think,
and to show to others (of course).
So I pin back her wings,
mount her on the page
and display her
for your consideration:
neatly arranged,
harmless
and utterly dead.