Poetry: Little Yolk

In honor of National Poetry Month, which starts today, I've decided to participate in the Academy of American Poets' pledge drive. Much like a runner might collect donations for a charity for miles run in a race, by writing a poem every day this month and by raising small donations for those poems, I hope to do my small part to keep an art form I love alive.

I'm not a great poet by any stretch of the imagination, but I enjoy writing poetry from time to time and have always wished I took time to do it more often, so this is a good excuse to force myself to write. At the very least, I expect it will be a fun experiment - I can't imagine keeping up with the daily quota will be easy or that the results will always be something I would normally want to print for public consumption! So, I promise to amuse, if not inspire - maybe both unintentionally (with my bad poetry) and intentionally (to break up the monotony, I may throw in one or two bawdy limericks and/or absurd haiku).

So without further ado, in observance of April Fool's Day, I give you a brief portrait of a fool . . .

Little Yolk

In those days,

She wasn’t the type to burn

Bridges in the name of feminism.

Which isn’t to say

She wasn't a feminist;

She’d just learned to choose

Her battles. She smiled and thanked

The man eating at

The counter

Who said, “You’re smart

For a woman,” a little yolk,

Yellow, dribble

Hanging from his beard.

She thought it was

Futile to argue

With the man

With money

Who didn’t realize

He had egg on his face.

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