My Muse Is On a Roll
My mind has taken off for Neverland,
I am hanging on by a cobweb,
It is bumping me against Venus
and has dragged me up through a black hole
or two. I barely dodge a couple of rocket-spinning- asteroids.
4:11 a.m.
I am screaming, “Slow down! Stop! Please stop!”
But she is on a roll. This is her fourth or fifth poem,
and all I have contributed is loud snoring.
I jump out of bed and head toward the kitchen,
making the dog angry, for she has to now fight her
way out of the covers I tossed on her.
Coffee with hot chocolate and tons of sugar first
if I am to make any sense out of this.
Ouch!
My imagination station pinches me on the Petootsie.
“We do not have time for coffee!” She shrieks at me.
Oh, great. It is Trixie, my muse,
and she is obviously in full angry drill sergeant
form today. I hate it when she learns it is a snow day the night before.
I pour my coffee combination, grab a cookie and head for
the computer where my hands begin to type, pleasing her.
These traitors are Trixie’s minions.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2019
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