by S. L. Lipson
My student does not like it
when I play peppy classical music--
or does he?
He fidgets with his pen,
raising and lowering it,
but not onto his paper,
where he is supposed to be writing.
He waves the pen,
watching it as if watching a windshield wiper,
to the rhythm of the music.
He's conducting, not creating,
Maybe classical music deafens his muse.
I switch radio channels to blues
and his pen stops dancing,
as he leans back in his chair
and takes a deep breath,
then leans forward and lowers his pen slowly
to his mostly blank page.
He starts writing, word by word at first,
and suddenly in a stream.
His posture projects passion through his pen.
Finally, he clicks his pen shut, rereads, sighs,
and looks up at me.
"Wow, this is the saddest thing
I've ever written."
His eyes look glassy.
a content choreographer.
For more poetry by S. L. Lipson, check out www.susanllipson.blogspot.com, my other blog titled "Writing Memorable Words."