On Thursday night an e-mail found its way into my inbox at work. The title of the e-mail was Selfish Request. It was from Jay. The e-mail read a little something like this:
I have a request to make of you.
Much like my commission of “Revelry” or “Monicaville Sunset” I am asking one of my friends to flex their creative muscles and create a work of art.
This piece is not for any event and has no other purpose but to serve as my (and possibly your) delectation.
I would like you to compose a poem.
The form and style is entirely up to you–length, rhyming/non-rhyming, A-B B-A stanzas, couplet, limerick, quatraine–I don’t care. However, as with the painting for Symposium, I shall choose the subject matter. I really hope you don’t choose Haiku form because I feel it’s just too limiting (however, it would be a hilarious ironic choice considering the subject), but I won’t hold you to it.
The subject is one that I only know about through you. In fact I think you’re the only person I have ever heard speak about it. The impression left on you was obvious and profound. When you spoke of it I remember the tone of nostalgia in your voice. It was equally a ridiculous and magical event. It was the Coal Miner’s Glove.
You have complete freedom on this. Any direction you want to take is entirely up to you. My only condition (not really a firm one) is that it be completed by St. Valentine’s Day–I have a lady friend I want to impress.
The second reason why I’m the wrong person to make such a request is because I don’t write poetry. I wish I did. I wish I could. I like poetry. I admire people that can write it. I sometimes fancy myself a writer, but poetry is not in the skill set.
Strangely enough I can think of 2 of Jay’s friends off the top of my head that could write him a beautiful and haunting poem. Both Monica and Willy are poets of some note. Both could do a more than capable job. There poetry would be both sublime and exquisite. Mine will be nonexistent.
The final reason that I’m the wrong person to ask is that simply enough, I don’t have the time. I’m struggling to find the time to work on the projects that I want to work on. I don’t have the time to do a project that I don’t want to work on. So there will be no poem from me for Valentine’s Day or any other day.
That is my bit of selfishness.