Thought You Would Write Without Me

I am sitting in hovel writing nothing For the hovel has taken every last drop of energy. Hey, wait. Is that an ant? An ant in the winter? What is she doing? I get out my magnifying glass of course. She is wearing a backpack full of something that has a sweet smell. Pardon me, I say. Can I have a tiny taste of that? You would take the food out of the mouth of sixty ants? She asks me. Lucky that I talk ant. I back away. Trixie walks over and kicks my hand. You are horrible! She tells me. I had forgotten I was supposed to wake her when I got up. There is nothing more exasperating than an angry muse. Thought you’d write something without me? Well, yes, um….. I am stammering now. We kind of have a little rule. She whisks away and stomps off. Out of all the muses in all the imaginations in all of the universes, I developed a female muse? Hmmmmmm I have to ponder that. But not right now. The ant is doing a tango and her backpack just flew off.