Trixie Has Her Way Daily
My muse Trixie is always raring to go; she writes while I sleep.
I know because upon awakening I hear a poem often.
The last couple of lines anyway, which is truthfully rather exasperating.
She has favorite words of which I am sick.
Dancing, prancing, twirling, whirling, are some of the verbs she always wants.
Do we have to use it on corpses and gargoyles? I ask.
She insists on her own way, which explains my fear of her.
Does she ever inspire me?
I am wracking my brain, thinking hard now.
My dendrite highway has completely shut down.
I am trying hard to think of the last time she inspired me.
Possibly today when we wrote twenty poems I do not remember writing.
She takes over when she wants. I am putty in her hand.
Not sure she inspires, but she surely runs the show.
She is in charge.
I am her pawn - a peon, a Plebian.
She is blowing the kazoo and dancing now.
Extremely happy that I have recognized her power over me.
Maybe when I awaken from my slumber in the morning
Trixie will let me remember more than just the last line of a poem.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2021
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