Every once in a while, an easy-peasy poem appears,
an effortlessly written poem,
a ripe poem,
like a full-term baby, an eight pounder with a full head of hair,
and the innate ability to sleep through the night.

After working on poems that are runaway creatures,
fickle-hearted flirts, and unsolvable puzzles,
along comes an easy-breezy poem, full of grace.

Out of respect, other poems ohh and ahh and recuse
themselves.
They know a winner when they see it.

Where do these gift poems come from, and
why don’t they come more often?

My theory is that a rewards program operates
in the universe, allowing a poet to earn a freebee
after a random number of head-banging attempts.

That’s the best I can come up with.