I want a poem that I can live in without
the barking dogs of dissatisfaction and
disillusion disrupting the otherwise peaceful
afternoon of it. I want to create that other-place
on the page without having to first create it
in my mind, or – to be too busy actually wallowing
there to find time enough to write it down. I want
to recite that poem, my poem, in a cozy little
coffee shop where they sell used books and cater
to local poets in a crazy cool, confident Sexton
like voice that does not mask but replaces the
hesitant voice that conveys, in between every word
it utters, the fear that someone will realize the truth
of it. I want to read it to them, then, there, as if I were
reading it just to you and in the way I might have if
I had shared it with you back when I couldn't wait
to share the everything that was tumbling out of me.
I want them to applaud sort of quietly as I conclude –
not because it sounded good, but because,
by every possible definition of poetic, it was.
I want to see you smile as I slide back into the
chair next to you for knowing, more than they
ever could, its truth.

And… I really wouldn’t mind so terribly much
if the waiter said something sweet like, “I wish
I could write poems like that” as he filled
our coffee cups and you replied with a
warm and sincere, “You can.”

Christine Austin Cole

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-poem-pro-tem/