I buy books to teach me
how to write poetry.
The only thing that oozes
from my pen is the anger
that I wasted my money
on a meager series of prompts
and definitions of form.
For my money I want a sausage maker
that will grind the stuff of my life
and create some breakfast meat
that I can eat on a Saturday morning
waiting in a quiet house
for everyone else to wake up.
At the Museum of Natural History
in the City of Brotherly Love,
where I volunteer,
among the dusty mammal exhibits,
is a butterfly room.
In the heat, turned way up,
the butterflies bask and flutter.
Rotting bananas left out
to feed flying gemstones.
A group of thirty kindergartners,
on a field trip, waiting for an elevator,
surround me, jumping up,
for a dinosaur sticker.
I feel like the rotting banana
to their butterflies.
© 2010, Thomas Jay Rush, All rights reserved
Thomas Jay Rush is the owner of a small internet-based software company, a fact he chooses to ignore, focusing instead on writing short fiction, poetry and a recently completed first novel, Doylestown. Mr. Rush lives with his family in Southeast Pennsylvania.
"Flutterbye" Photo by: Susan Campbell