BAD HABITS

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Another day, read most of another poetry book, forced child into bath, sent out eight poems to be rejected (check attitude! honestly!), made a beans and carrots thing for a family dinner in Nelson. Too tired to even attempt to talk about someone's book, so here's a little poem by me that was in the latest edition of Verse Afire, the tri-annual publication of the Ontario Poetry Society of which this BC girl is a proud member.


Today's poetry prompt from the NaPoWriMo site was to "write a poem in which each line except the last takes the form of a single, declarative sentence. Then, the final line should take the form of a question. With any luck, this will result in poems that have a sort of driving, reportorial tone, but with a powerful rhetorical finish. Let’s hope so, anyway!"

So this isn't exactly as ordered, and I'll be the first to admit it wasn't written today (although another one was), but tough titty, as we used to say. 

Bad Habits

I don’t follow instructions.

For example, when asked to write a poem

about a bad habit, I can’t think of one.

I procrastinate for a couple of days,

swear like a 14-year-old trying to impress

his brother’s friends, say I’m not going to

write at all, then pace the floor

I didn’t wash before my roommate

got home. I smoke one fag after another,

let ashes drop where the dog will walk

with his big wet feet and track them

all over the brand new carpet

I’m paying for on my credit card

which is so maxed-out

I no longer answer the phone

even though it might be a call for work

and if I miss three calls in a row

I go to the bottom of the list,

the rent will be late,

my roommate will kick me out,

who will walk the dog,

but how can I write about a bad habit

when I really haven’t got any?

Yeah, right. Over and out.

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