something, nothing at all

i can sing a silly song

of sixpence

or croon a lullaby

ignoring high notes

or really low ones

half mindful of sharps and flats

 

i can dance a dance

of two-step or four-square

with someone

or no one at all

twirling and twisting to a rhythm

or the drumming of my heart

 

i can draw a drawing

with ink on parchment

or do a pencil sketch

color curlicues of flowers

or starry starry nights

with crayola crayons

 

i can weave a tapestry of words

long sentence-threads

climbing and looping

into paragraphs and pages

essays and stories

this poem

 

i can do many things

but no thing well

 

i’m a songbird in my mind

a ballerina in my head

caravaggio stirs my soul

and shakespeare my thoughts

a jill of all trades

master of none

*from the files of very bad poetry by bia