You Are

You are the word that never rhymes with anything.

You are like the clumsy simile that sits and grins.

You are the rogue 'a'
that hangs on the end of a line when it shouldn't.

You are the metaphor supposed
to tie the poem together. Only it doesn't.

You are the line of the poem, always a little longer than the rest.

You are the personification of something mundane;
it's not 'Wow!' - but it tries its best.

You are the stanza that refuses punctuation
and kicks commas up like stone chippings;
discards full stops like footballs
in other people's gardens

You are the loose paving stone of -
a line my tongue trips over - every time!

You are a rogue half-rhyme.

You are the last line that reads like an epilogue.

You are imagery that considers itself God.

You are the reader that just didn't 'get it'.

You are the poet.