The Truth About Tigers

Inspired by a new Billy Collins poem,
I hurried home, eager to write,
sure I could catch the same easy current—
only to watch this poem unfold
like a half-deflated balloon,
listing sideways, refusing to rise.

It’s like hearing Hendrix tear through
Gypsy Eyes on a ’68 Strat,
then picking up my cheap Ibanez
and fumbling my way
through a crooked version
of Three Blind Mice.