A friend called to wish me a happy birthday. We've been friends for over 15 years. If I thought she wanted me to mention her name, I'd gladly post it here, but she might not.
Below is the portion of our conversation relevant to my new poem:
"So have you been writing any poetry?"
"Yes! I just wrote a poem. Hang on."
[reads poem]
"Boy, that's racy."
"Do you think?"
"That's what happens when you turn 40."
. . .
"Should I keep writing poetry?"
"Why would you want to do that?"
[laughter, though I felt my heart twist into a knot]
"It's a sonnet, but I didn't intend it to be when I wrote it."
"It doesn't rhyme."
"It's not metered. So what do you think?"
"Its in open form, with short lines. It certainly seems done. You have all these little things going on in the way you write. But so does everyone."
"Should I revise it?"
"No."
...
Keep going, little poem!
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