The Pensive Poet
(A new poem written for Constance La France's "The Pensive Poet" Contest)
The taste of the accidentally swallowed ink is still making me nauseous.
The blue stains on the left side of my mouth and face look like I was on the losing end of a pugilistic bout.
There is no salvaging my good white shirt which caught the leaking ink before it reached my trousers.
Chewing on the end of my pen during pensive moments of writers’ block is a habit I really must quit.
And still the ink has not put any rhyming words on the blank sheet of paper on my desk mocking me.
Perhaps it is time to make friends with the laptop PC my son bought for me and the word processing applications that intimidate me.
Although a blank screen is no more comforting than a blank piece of paper.
And, I am not sure my fingernails are willing to make the sacrifice of replacing the end of a Bic pen.
Poetry is my paramour; pensivity, her jealous lover.
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