My Poem Has Manners

my poem has manners
sometimes it is diffident
it will pour tea

when there isn't any in the house
and the cup is cracked
the one with a favorite flower

but you don't notice
when you drink from it
the whole world seems 

hand painted by God
well, who else would it be
although they pretend

he's not only
an unknown artist
he's unknown period

.

he's not even there
well did you make stars
my poem wants to know

or is merely rhetorical
perhaps you should go
my poem wants to cry

it's like that a lot
you would know
if you lived with it

if you watched it sprout
green leaves.
or wings

if you saw the way
it looks into the distance
as if, into a mirror.

or into the wind

the way it brings roses
into the day
on impulse

and scrapbooks the tears
of small children;
then, their amethyst smiles

mary angela douglas 18 april 2019