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
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