Why We Don't Read Poetry

Poetry is an elixir; fluid
words expressing
that which is in our
soul but cannot spill
over the tongue or through
clenched teeth or even
into thought.

The workday conditions us
to suppress, repress,
do anything but
express that which filters
into our awareness
during our incarceration
on the job.

Supposed-to-be's
become entangled
in webs of subtle
corruption, or blatant
dis-es of everything written
in manuals and policies
and burned into conscience.

We pretend to be
our ideal selves. We pretend
to breath refreshingly. We build
ramparts around our
existence, compartmentalize our
essence. We give ourselves
over to pitiful norms.

The cure skulks within us
like a first-aid kit that ages
in the trunk of the car: yellowed
bandages that may no longer
adhere, salves that may no longer
soothe. We dare not open
Pandora's box.