Poetry Is Stupid Poem by Brian Mayo

“You haven’t been there for two years! ” she complained.
The tapping foot meant she was a live grenade, so I took my time before answering.
She stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip.
She was wearing a lime green dress, and looked like a teapot, ready to boil.
I poured a shot of whiskey in my coffee and used the remote to pause the game.
I turned my head, giving her my full attention. “Honey, it’s not that I don’t like your parents, but you know damn-well… I told you I was never going back to that house.”
“But, why? ” she whined. “Mom’s always asking me when you’re coming over! ”
“And your dad...? ”
She faltered, “Well....”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
“Just ‘cause he didn’t like your book? ”
I fished around in my shirt pocket for a cigarette and began looking for my lighter.
I found it buried it the cushions.
“If it wasn’t for that book we’d still be living in their basement.” I replied.
“I know, I know! But I can’t help it if he thinks poetry is stupid! ” she blurted.
I looked at her innocently. “And what do YOU think? ”
I applied flame to my cigarette, giving her time to formulate an answer.
“I, um, I love your poems, Brian, you know that.”
“Do you? Do you really? ”
“Well...some of them. MOST of them...” she added hastily.
I smiled thinly and turned the game back on.
“Tell your mom I said hi.”

I took a drink of coffee and swore softly.
The Lions were getting their butts handed to them.