I Erased The Previous Line

 

“So much poetry is like

Angels dancing on the head

of a pin,” I typed.

 

My face twitched.

A hard blink of my left eye,

involuntarily contracted

my left cheek into a hard

ball.

 

I erased the previous line.

 

“Poetry, is not like Angels

dancing on the head of a pin,”

I typed.

 

No twitch.

But a curious insecurity

welled up inside.

Some deep mistrust of

that phrase.

 

I erased the previous line.

 

“Angels dancing on the

head of a pin, have nothing

to do with poetry,” I typed.

 

My nose wrinkled.

I felt as if I had to sneeze,

but no sneeze came.

But there was the wrong

smell to it.

 

I erased the previous line.

 

“I think I’ll put a pin in

this one,” I typed.

 

The Angel sitting to my

right, knitting a pot holder

with large needles, nodded

and continued rocking

in her chair.

 

I kept the previous line.