Pen Envy
To O.S., the Freudian
My friend Omar is a poet--
it says so on his business card.
But truly, he has published volumes
and works hard at his craft.
Yesterday he wrote twelve poems--
maybe more--while I eked out
a mere one. I could say to myself,
"It's quality, not quantity," and soothe
my ego, that won't work. Honestly,
he has both. Although he's much
younger, he's plied his trade far longer.
I am a dabbler--writing a poem
as an academic exercise, a piece
of discipline, a creative outlet. But
never a pressing need. I understand
that my true talents lie elsewhere.
But that doesn't stop my occasional bouts
of pen envy--the only kind of envy I know.
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