So the other night, my friend Emma and I went to a funky coffeeshop for some coffee and hot chocolate, respectively. I had brought my notebook and a demand! “Give me prompts! I want to write POEMS!”
No time for conversation! Only prompts!
“I burned my tongue” She said sadly.
“Okay! Here we go!” And I wrote a poem.
I bit my tongue
I will bite it again
It will never stop
Until it did
Then Emma told me she BURNED her tongue! Not bit it at all! So I wrote a new poem.
I burned my tongue
And kept on drinking
Hard palate, soft palate
Raw, blanched, peeling
Kept on drinking
Fire in the belly
Hot chocolate roiling out of my mouth and throat and
this is the best hot chocolate I could ever ask for.
She accepted this poem and gave me an actual prompt. The prompt was Walt Whitman!
was a poet
He wrote LEAVES OF GRASS
He was an American
Emma said that this was not a poem. She said I wrote a second grade essay and formatted it strangely, and that this did not a poem make! So I wrote a real poem:
I THINK THAT I SHALL NEVER SEE
A POEM AS LOVELY AS A TREE
I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD
I’LL SAY MY PRAYERS
I’LL SAY THEM LOUD
She said I was just copying, and poorly at that.
Did I tell you about this one time
I LOVED you?
She said it was a snide line, not a poem! So she gave me another prompt, “pearls”
Pearls are not beautiful
They are not you
And when we went for icecream, she gave the prompt, “meeting new people”
Meet someone new
It is good for
Then she gave me my favorite prompt, which was something bitter:
A Campari on ice
Is never so nice
As when I am drinking with you
Your words are so bitter
Your lips are so red
You’re so cold that I feel that I’ve had two, instead.