on the side of a highway
writing doesn’t come easy to me
especially when you sneak
into my poetry
like a cat without a shadow
once you told me a little innuendo
goes a long way
then a week goes by
without a word or a wink
as if there isn’t anything to live for
but isn’t that what poetry
is all about
making something out of nothing
pulling words out of thin air
and throwing them against
your invisible brick wall
in the early morning hours
there you are
stabbing them with your picker
and sticking them
into your satchel
like a prisoner on the side
of a highway
january two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
Or a herbalist gathering the curing herbs… I really love this one. Somehow or another, I can *feel* the lines. They become real and tangible to me.
Good morning, Tara. I’m pleased this piece speaks to you.
It sure does.
I love this poem, too, John. Wonderful images you create with your words.
Thank you for making me smile, Lauren.