Broken Poetry Main Poem by Roger Gerald Hicks

Some workman broke into the main early this morning.
for a time, there was no poetry- not a stanza.

Then, full of sorrow, I realized how often
I used it, and how many things I use poetry for.

To us, poetry is a utility, turn a knob or flick
a switch, insert a disk or tape, crack a book;

But when the main is broken who can imagine
how to recharge the spirit, reprieve the guilt?

How do you flush bad vibes? rinse your mouth?
How do you make coffee, more importantly—why?

It becomes like a missing tooth the tongue
constantly searches for; sure it will be back on…

You pace about staring at the holes in bookshelves
trying to remember fragments of your favorites.

Finally, main restored; poetry is again available.
In a few hours, you're distracted, you forget by dinner.

We blandly assume poetry will always be there
for isn't poetry like air, and isn't air always there?

Don't we take poetry for granted because it must be there
like freedom of the press, freedom to worship, freedom of…