"Wake up, David." That familiar voice. It was Herman Cain, surely here to ask me to go on another mission with him. "What is it?" I mumbled without opening my eyes. "David, we must do something romantic in order to enhance your relationship with the Chilean communist, Camila Vallejo." I slowly opened my eyes and rubbed them, hoping that would bring me clarity. "But that was just a dream. Even if the relationship with the woman is just a dream, you still have to work on it?"
"Yes. You must work on all relationships with women, regardless of the circumstance. I propose that we write her a romantic poem. We must first write in English. But English is not her first language. So we must then use Google translate to turn it into Spanish so that she can get the full impact."
I realized there was no sense in arguing with Herman Cain. Plus, if it could help my relationship with the lovely Camila, all the better. Herman Cain took out a used pizza box from his briefcase and a pen. He began scribbling notes on the pizza box.
I was anxious to finish this latest mission and go back to sleep where being with Camila was far easier. "Mr. Cain, maybe we can write a Haiku. Here's one:
Since we became one,
My life has greater meaning.
I love you always.
Bam! Done." A smug satisfaction assumed control of my face.
Herman Cain frowned and shook his head as if to free his mustache from stubborn pizza crumbs. "No! Terrible." He leaned forward. "I only use one type of poetry. It is my 9-9-9 poetic form." The corners of my mouth succumbed to gravity. This wasn't going to be easy.
The 9-9-9 poetic form featured three lines of nine words each with the last word of each line rhyming.
"First, we need to get a picture of your beloved." That was easy enough as I slept with a picture of Camila every night. "Focus on what attracts you to her. Not just her physical beauty, but how you feel with her. How would you feel without her." I began writing on the pizza box,
You mean everything to me, a world without you
Would find me all alone. I feel electricity through
Me when we touch. Everyday with you is new.
Herman Cain examined the poem. "That is not good. It is too cliche." Frustration slapped me in the face. "This form is so stupid. You just made it up. It's too limiting. Sure it's simple, but simple is not always better. I mean, I'm not a poet to begin with. This was a bad idea from the start."Herman Cain lent a disappointed smirk. "The problem with that analysis is that it is incorrect. But maybe my 9-9-9 poetic form is not for you. I am not attached to those numbers. We can try something else." I tried to keep my shock from exploding onto the surface but failed. Those numbers seemed to be the essence of his being. He was so willing to give in once he found the slightest push back.
He ripped up the canvas that held our notes and took out another used pizza box from his briefcase. "We need to set the mood." At that point, Herman Cain began to sing a baritone version of "Let's Get It On." Each of Herman Cain's notes tickled my libido as I stared at the photo of Camila. Inspiration bit me like an African mosquito. I became woozy and began to write.
Join us tomorrow as the poem for Camila is unveiled.
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