Moonlight Cruise

I claim that prose is easier.
And yet I hardly prove my claim.
The form is brutal in essence.
The cleverness of turns of phrase
Is met with lower tolerance
Than poetry of equal grace
And equal lack of meatiness.
(Is poetry just vegan prose?)
It’s easier to disappoint.
It’s easier to get it wrong.
For there are clear rights and wrongs
In prose that poetry escapes.
Is this a poem plain as prose?
Or prose in gait of poetry?
It walks a craven middle path.
It does not put its neck on lines.
It fills the time like nine-to-fives.
It kills the time like five-to-nines.
As meaningful as blurry days.
And guarded just as preciously.