Random Thought...

It seems to me that poets must be some of the most easily distracted people on the planet. They are the only people who can sit in their kitchen typing a sonnet or poem about a lost love or a dear friend, look out their window and immediately begin writing a different poem about the tiny snowflakes that have slowly begun to fall. Does a normal person sit listening to a friend (or acquaintance) talk, and suddenly become more fascinated with the marbled colors in their eyes then what they are actually saying? As a rule you would never drive with a poet (that is if you value your life) when the sun is setting, a heavy snow is falling, or there is anything more interesting then the road outside of the car. *Looks around room… wow! I’ve never noticed that crack before… it kinda looks like a rabbit…oh! I’m sorry, I got distracted…