the poet, taking requests

this is not the first time
this has happened to me.

you're a poet? someone says.
well. you should write a poem about
     - zombies
     - the unclassifiable life of slime molds
     - immortal jellyfish
     - my mother, who is wise
     - the birthing process as metaphor
     - texting while driving

amongst others, of course.

each time i nod gravely. i know that
if they have given me this gift, it is because
they suspect a truth lurks there--
fleet metaphor dancing
just beyond their peripheral vision--
and they hope that i
with my broken lines
and sidelong diction
will find the words to make it clear for them.

and i solemnly swear to all you givers of gifts
that every time, i try.
i really do. i have filled a page with words
beneath the title: Immortal Jellyfish

but any poet will tell you: all they ever find
is the sound of their own voice
leaking imperfectly from a pen.

i'm sorry, i have lately learned to say:
you'll have to write that one yourself.