I Killed A Poem

I killed a poem just yesterday-- crumpled, balled, tossed, trashed. An undeserving verse I thought, vague, trite, artlessly contrived. It was buried in Rubbermaid, and following dinner, blessed with bits of wild rice and other less kindly remains.  I thought it finished. Composted. Forever gone. Yet, sometime during the night it sought me out, calling from the damp and darkness, demanding resurrection. Begging excavation! I tunneled in that plastic tomb. But it was lost. Though a single line remained, haloed between burnt bread crusts. Yet, that glorious remnant spoke its sad message eloquently-- "I killed a poem," it read, "just yesterday..."