a poet's weekend

what did you do at the weekend? She asks
attempting to include me in the conversation
because I am sat on the other side of the room, alone
by choice, notebook in hand
and it is kind
she is trying to be kind

but the silence stretches
stains my ears as I try
to think of something mildly interesting

i wrote lots of poems, I say
and slept a bit
stared out of my window like a cat
tried not to cry at other poems before
realising I was built to cry
and then cried, lots

and the silence this time, expands
you can almost grasp the curvature of it
as she processes this information
and attempts to think of a reasonable reply

but unlike I, she is not a poet
alhough, when I speak, I am also
not a poet
sometimes when I write, I am not a poet
a poet is a state of mind
and my mind is in no state
for poetry
as she sits silently
digests my adventurous weekend

oh she says
you do give me poet vibes

and I wonder if it is just
to brighten the topic a bit
but I do hope it isn’t a lie

this weekend
i am sure
i will read more poems
and cry.

20:38pm - 15/04/26