There!

That was not where the poem was going.
It was not going-
      
       there.

It was fluffy kitties
and dancing birds and
some kid playing a tuba;
a Facebook-y poem
of no account
except to amuse
in some amount-

And then, well, you know,
it went-

      there.

It had a rhyme scheme
and some cool syntactical tricks
and a clever coda;
it was the poetical equivalent
of a Seven-up soda.

And then it went-

     there.

And I couldn’t pull it back.

Because once a poem goes

     there

the most you can do is
follow it down

     there

and hope for the best.