This poem was about to have no title.

As I write this, I don’t know what I’ll write.

I contemplate its format. Do I use proper punctuation?

I usually don’t. But perhaps today is different.

After all, anything can happen.

 

Just like -

Earlier today,

I stepped in a pile of shit.

You know what they say?

 

Later on,

A pigeon shit on my shoulder

 

It doesn’t matter what I say in this poem.

Or any poem. Because there is always a bottom line.

A usual theme.

You know what it is.

He knows, she knows, you all know.

That I love her.

 

But, according to recent realizations by a select few,

it has been determined that I, the author of this poem,

or is it a poem?, hasn’t met her yet.

 

But that doesn’t matter. Because I wrote this.

Anything can happen.

And it doesn’t matter.

Because no matter what anything is happening,

I still love you.

 

 

© 2006 David Greg Harth

06.10.18.14:13:44@205HudsonNYC