(from the NaPoWriMo prompt: write a poem that engages with another art form – it might be about a friend of yours who paints or sculpts, your high school struggles with learning to play the French horn, or a wonderful painting, film, or piece of music you’ve experienced – anything is in bounds here, so long as it uses the poem to express something about another form of art.)
I practiced the kazoo for a month
before someone told me
I had to hum,
but only stuck with the piano
for a week before falling over
black and white scales
and I painted four portraits
of my dogs that my husband
called modern primitive.
I twisted some copper pipes
into a tomato cage that
falls apart each spring
and once, a long time ago,
I asked my mother to teach me
to knit, but my fingers are too large
and in the end, I think I am
just a simple man, not an
artist nor art’s boon.
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