The Reason

As elusive as

the mystery of

that rattling sound

under the hood

of my ’79 Aspen

is poetry.

Auto mechanics

like poets

see how everything

should fit

and can discern

a perfect specimen

immediately

but I’ve no

formal schooling

in anything artistic.

I tried writing

poems

plays

essays

and jokes

failing

in predictable

unremarkable ways

as the self-taught

often do.

This all started

as a way to soothe

my lifelong sadness.

I made myself

little toys

to amuse myself

and take me

somewhere else

and to make

a modest contribution

to the argument

that I’m

special.

I create

not for the love

of others

but so that I will have

a reason

to love myself.