I'm Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown.

When I meet someone new or my lift driver strikes up a conversation, or a new nurse practitioner asks, what do you do?

It can be a little dicey telling people I'm a poet or a writer.

When I say I'm a poet, people always look surprised.

One time a dental hygienist said, poet? Do people still do that? As if poetry was something people wrote only in Shakespeare's time.

Sometimes people ask, what kind of poems do you write?

Or, what are your poems about?

These seem like pretty basic questions, but I've always found them difficult to answer.

What kind of poems do I write?

Free verse?

Poems for adults?

Poems that mostly don't rhyme? And the other question is just as loaded, because I'm not

thinking about what my poems are about when I'm writing them. I'm not planning a theme.

I think aboutness for a poet can be a trap. I think you can ruin a poem by going

into it determined to write about something in particular. Ideally, you pay attention and listen, and you let the language lead you, not some idea of theme.

The poem reveals itself over time.

I was drawn to today's poem from the get-go because of its title, poem about everything except...

I went in anticipating maximalism, everything but the kitchen sink, as the saying goes, and the poem delivered.

But it also surprised me again and again, and I think it will surprise you too.

Maybe, deep down, all poems are about just that.

Surprise.

A feeling of discovery.

...