Certain tropes are dead. Crumpled up like paper
And discarded, fallen off the table, gathering dust
In a corner of the room. For example, old poets
Would wax lyrical looking at some farmers
Throw their back as they dig into the Earth,
But all I see is hard work and sun-beaten faces.
There is no romance in that scene. It’s real.
But then other tropes are like those same pieces of paper
Discovered while cleaning the room, smoothed out,
And added back to the book, like when I was on a walk
The other day I heard a magpie chirp. It reminded me
Of an old nursery rhyme. I took my earphones out
And listened, really listened to the bird songs.
I felt like I was living a poem.