A Poem About Nothing

by Pat Guinn

 I like to write a verse or two

whenever someone’s birthday’s due.

I sign, “Best wishes, me to you.”

Because those words are oh so true.

But sometimes, when the sky is blue,

or when the webs are wet with dew,

a few thoughts, in my mind, go through.

I’d like to write a po’m … to who?

(I know the grammar’s all askew,

but rhyming makes it all unglue.

To make the meaning come out true,

words used may not be as you knew.)

I mix myself a coffee brew

and with my pen, I think and stew.

What shall I write?  I’ve naught a clue!

And then … I spy my runny shoe,

all tattered, torn, and not so new.

I wonder, will this subject do?

I think that, if a kangaroo

Hopped up to me,

I’d still be through.