The poem for the Poetry Crisis Line post on Monday, Jan 7
by David Sklar
reprinted with permission* first published in LitUP
You stole a clove of garlic
and they locked you in the closet;
you had trouble understanding
why they punished you that way,
but they didn't want you punished,
they don't know you stole the garlic,
you were always in the closet
'til the garlic made you see.
So you tell them of the garlic
but they don't believe you stole it
so they can't believe you have it
even though you know it's there,
so you hold it out before them
but they cannot seem to see it,
so you shove it in their faces
but the same they cannot smell.
And they tell you you're rebellious
and they lock you in the closet
'cause it's hard to see the garlic
when the garlic isn't theirs,
and the garlic stands before you,
great and gray and strangely ancient,
saying, "Kid, I'm glad you did it;
I was lonely in the 'fridge."
*Full disclosure: this is me. Most days the Poetry Crisis Line features other people's work, but it's my birthday, so I'm doing me.