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Poetry and Gasoline

It’s winter
and we’re
stuck here
with each other.
I’m too sober
to argue
and she’s
too tired
to make love.
So we sit
together
watching TV.
I want
to write
poetry
she says.
Poetry
that melts
the snow.
They’ve
already
done it
I say.
Really?
Really.
Who?
she asks.
Shakespeare
for one.
I don’t like
Shakespeare
she says.
Me neither
I tell her.
But I sure
like the way
his poetry
burns.

Jaundré van Breda © 2020

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