There are many reasons people write. For instance, some just wish to communicate; others write for money; still, more than a few write to be remembered--or even be the inspiration for another to take up the pen (or keyboard, since pen is soooooo last century).
For this week's prompt, I want you to write a poem with the following title: You're the reason I (blank).
You get to decide what the blank is AND who the "you" in your poem is. For instance, you could write a poem called "You're the reason I ride a bike to work" that is directed at whoever's to blame for the rising price of gasoline, or you could pen (again with the penning!) a piece titled "You're the reason I don't attend weddings anymore" directed at someone who ruined a wedding (or perhaps, an ex-spouse). Anyway, I think this one should be a fun poem to write. So get at it.
Here's my attempt.
"You're the reason I'm afraid of heights"
Or, at least, the reason I used to worry
during games of kickball that the ball
would roll into the street just as a car
drove by and that as the car swerved
it would hit the curb in such a way as
to flip upside down and crash across
the fire hydrant sending a tower of water
into the air and street gutter that always
seemed to back up. The flipped car
would then, of course, catch fire--maybe
even explode. Maybe even smack one
of us children. Possibly kill us all, because
we wouldn't be ready for it. Except I
was ready, always ready for the worst.
Always ready for a kickball catastrophe,
a recreational apocalypse. And then,
there would be nothing left to do
as the water sprayed into the air,
the car burned, and the bodies writhed
upon the ground, but to wander over
to the kickball and pick it up. Maybe
splash around in the water collecting
in the gutter, waiting for an ambulance
and fire truck. Waiting for backup.