Therein Lies The Caveat

I want
to write a poem

The words are
beast and I’ve been
thinking about them
for a week.

In between teaching
then driving home,

The words pop-up with

If it wasn’t for
my busy schedule,

And those winding
autumn roads,

I’d be rocking the most
exquisite superlatives:

Writing poems about
the fog I knifed

or how I wait

the heavenly dew

like an orange peel,
forms on my windshield.

And, with a twist
of my fingers
the wiper-blades
swooshes it clear.