Saturn

You’d say there’s nothing
more cliché than a woman
past her prime, wedded
to a man caught between career
and mistress.

You might suggest I avoid
these topics for something more,
something deeper, uncharted
planets for fresh poetry
and stale critics.

Does that leave me Saturn to discuss?

Then you might think
I’m being clever, slightly
verbose, citing the downfall
of American society as cheap cars
and cheaper ethics rise.

Hint: I’m not.

These are stock images,
snapshots lifted countless
times from loveless
homes, original once (maybe twice)
before the thrill is gone.

I can hear it now.

Are parentheses necessary?
Too many line stops.
Where is your enjamb-
ment? Caesura, anyone?

Maybe I should ask Mr. King.

I’d write you poems
about stick shifts
and safety belts,
but let’s not get
started with plagiarism.

What options are left?

Not to write.
Not to listen.
Not to give a fuck.