Villanelle: My Poem Drive Is Still Alive

I think my poem drive is still alive—

poem beagles swarming fast and thick—
but I wonder if it’s better or worse than a prey drive.

To write a poem every day I strive,
though there are days when I don’t write a lick.
I hope my poem drive is still alive.

It’s like standing waiting for for the host to arrive
when I know I don’t belong to this clique,
and I wonder what could be worse than a prey drive.

Or like spending days waiting for the endive
to grow—it’s not that bad a schtick,
betting that my poem drive is still alive.

Still, there are times when I’d rather lie
on a leaf of grass like an enlightened tick,
untempted by the scent of passers by.

There’s a red fox running somewhere out under the sky.
Will it be too wiley and quick
for my dogs? I think my poem drive is still alive,
but I'm afraid it’s no better or worse than a prey drive.