Whenever I have a day off, I write a new poem.
Does this mean you shouldn’t work, or that you
write best on your day off?
For example, this is the poem I wrote today.
When he was 20, he understood some of the secrets of
life, and undertook to write them down so simply that
even an idiot could understand.
“For,” he reasoned, “if I can’t do that, I don’t
understand it myself.”
He proved himself right.
When he was 50, he didn’t understand it himself.
“Why is it,” he said, “that no matter what you say,
a woman always takes it personally?”
“I never do,” she said.
John said, “Then I met that short fat guy with the
neat little beard, with a name like dawn.”
“You mean George Abend?”
“Abend means evening.”
Lew Welch, “Circle Poems” from Ring of Bone: Collected Poems of Lew Welch. Copyright © 2012 by Lew Welch. Reprinted by permission of City Lights Books.
Source: Ring of Bone: Collected Poems of Lew Welch
(City Lights Books, 2012)