Fabrication

Construction begins tomorrow
at 9am sharp, not weather dependent,
not whether I’m ready or not, not
a question of it not happening,
God willing.

Before 9am, I will say my rosary
and my daily prayers, shower,
slather in some mega-moisture
conditioner and leave it in; I will
not be going anywhere tomorrow.
I will pick a pretty bathing suit and
that will be my construction outfit
for the day; I will not be swimming,
cleaning, doing laundry or cooking,
I won’t even be digging in the garden.

I will be excavating the ponderous pile
of pending poems that are strewn
in random order in my head. My muse,
Harry, and I will sort and write, edit and
polish, one poem an hour for 24 hours.
As a team, we will tap into lines jotted
on scraps of paper, old envelopes, and
lining journals that line every bookshelf,
prompts hanging from curtain rods, hiding
in dust bunny fashion, and those right
before my eyes. The Poetry Marathon
welcomes us in unabashed embrace
and we can hardly wait.

There will not be enough time in one day
for us to deconstruct my writhing darlings,
to undam all those recalcitrant snippets
that litter the byways of my brain canals
but we will pickaxe them like rich veins
of pure gold, mine them into versed lines,
titled, kissed, and cataloged, and then
move on to the next and the next
until two dozen fledglings breathe.

9am Saturday sleepless through 9am
Sunday. A few miles on the exercise bike,
berries in blue, black, and red to snack on,
and the holy grail of decadent rewards –
one piece of dark chocolate for every poem
birthed, scrubbed, and baptized. I hid the bag,
will abracadabra it to my desk in the morning,
along with hot caffeine until noon, then cold,
then maybe a splash of gin that goes so well
with Dove chocolates, and those inspirations
inside the foil wrappers will become magical
poems when the sky is sparkled with stars
and my Harry is napping.

A day away, construction begins tomorrow,
a tool belt full of metaphors, no hard hat,
no work boots – I’ll be barefoot; no way
I’m going to miss this distraction-empty time
writing writing writing. Join me if you dare.

~ J R Turek
June 25, 2021