Part Time Poet

She calls on me, intermittently In fickle favor, in spotty dictionaries My demure, distracted destiny She is the unrequited lover, the absent mother She is Santa, granting wishes Upon orphan dinner dishes Then, flitting through my mind's back door Leaving me her messy, unfinished chores She is sly mischief's mocking whim She is moonlight's pull, waxing and dim She arrives on trumpet's fanfare glory To bestow in my beggar's palms, a story I am too poor to pass her by Too thirsty, her nectar to deny I am the third string, the second select Her stepchild of benign neglect She is my bitter pleasure, my inconvenient pride My every frustration, my only tribe I am a poet on part time pay As full time runs a five second delay. 6/28/19