Now is the time when I am supposed
To write a poem.
The subject has been selected;
Against the odds, the committee in my head
Was unanimous in approving it for composition.
It was to focus on questions of identity --
Whether trappings make the man and such,
And would flow into a song
Of wonderment about the divine,
And the role of community in the creation of meaning.
It would close with the sentiment that we are all
Alone with ourselves.
The poem, however, did not agree
With the committee's plan.
"Not this week,"
And ran away.