Since childhood, verse has flowed from my pen -
or rather, my pencil, away back then.
In wobbly printing I wrote my first play
at the age of eight. My mom said, "Hurray!"
On her Smith Corona at our kitchen table
she typed out my script - a fantasy fable
full of dream fairies who danced and sang
the ditty I'd written for the whole gang.
Fast forward beyond my earliest youth,
and you'll find me behind a promising booth
promoting verse-crafting at some church fair.
Customers crowded to order a "poem"
to celebrate birthdays abroad and at home,
or admonish teen-agers to tidy their room
in a wittily threatening voice of doom.
Ghost-writing a verse at the drop of a hat
appeals to the chameleon in me.
It starts with a rhyme, then goes beyond that
merging its ripples until they are free
sometimes to join the poetical realm,
and I know that it's not just my hand at the helm.
Helen Heubi
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