Poetic disbelief

 You write poetry?
She sneered through her eyes.

How can anyone with a
pen and an imagination
not write poetry, I pondered.

Even without the pen,
words must surely form
in the mind, dancing and
playing with the rhythm of
your step and lift of your gait.

Perhaps they would only form
poems briefly before a distraction
throws it under your shoe, never
to be recalled or committed to
the material world.

I try to write poetry.
I replied.