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.