Every night there is one last poem
I write
I look at the time
And think about
All the other things I need to do.
I stare at the blank page
And I search for one more thought,
One great idea
Or collection of thoughts.
I put a few words down
On the virtual page
And look around my office.
The dog needs walking.
The dishwasher needs emptying.
The laundry needs sorting.
And none of these things
Lend themselves to poetry.
i try to write every night. but sometimes bella's (my black lab) stares wear me down and i have to eject for a long walk.
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