Poem - the cliché

24.8.2020

Like a little devil

Poetry invades me when my hands are busy cooking Fyederika’s dinner

Or when my mind wanders absently on the bus, no paper or pen, cellphone hidden under my coat

When I am drinking with my friends and a collective image or idea pops up, climbs the table and flies in the cigarette smoke

Or when I am half sleep, risking insomnia by switching on the light

Well, the perfect day when I FINALLY sit on my desk to write

It vanishes, runs away laughing

Like a sassy boy who likes to play tricks

on an old man's head