Imagine I am Stephen Dunn and I have learned my mother is dead.
I would say,
"Now I'll have a death poem."

I would feel bad about saying that,
you aren't supposed to say something quite so honest. 

But, wait a second.

I am not Dunn,
and my mother is alive and kicking.

I saw a woman riding on a bike with her
baby sitting behind her and their dog on a leash,
behind them both.

This is how I became Dunn: I said,

"Now I'll have a poem about a dog-walking Mother on a bike."

Bryan Sanders
BRYAN SANDERS, almost 21,  while not subjugated to "higher education" at the moment, is currently transient and loving every minute, traveling, sampling, enjoying. He is a relentless advocate of self-government. Unpublished prior to current engagement, he is cynical by nature, optimistic by necessity, sarcastic by choice.
The Adirondack Review