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A Poem
November 12, 2006
In lieu of an unnecessary ramble (wait, isn’t that the point of this website?), here’s a poem we were given during one of my recent Composition and Rhetoric classes. I thought it was pretty funny, even though my professor held much more enthusiasm for it than I had.
Writers Anonymous: A 3 Step Program
[Step One: Resentment]
Hi, My name is Quentin.
I’m a write-a-holic.
I can’t control it, can’t curb
the urge to write.
I need help.
I want my life back.
[Step Two: Commitment]
I write poems on fast food napkins,
with toothpicks, using ketchup for ink.
I jot ideas for poems
on my arms and legs. When I run out of space,
I use my shoes.
I make motions
similar to Michael Jackson’s moonwalk
when I need to erase.
I make up stories
while making love to my wife.
She left me. Who needs her?
She was suffocating my creativity.
I await submission replies
like an addict, hands trembling,
head shaking in disbelief.
Not another bout with rejection!
I’m manic depressive.
I’m happy to be here.
No I’m not.
I live for revision.
Instead of sex, I have poems.
I eat feedback.
[Step 3: Contentment]
As a recovering write-a-holic,
admitting my problem
has provided a much needed catharsis.
Joining this nurturing group has
(Excuse me,
but are you going to throw away that paper cup?
That’s good paper!)
taught me to reconcile my past
and move forward.
–Quentin Huff
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