Trixie Shakes Me Awake

Trixie, my poetic muse, shakes me awake. The clock says 2:59 or 3:01, A.M., the witching hour. The ending of a poem filters through the air. Did I hear the last two lines or only the last line? Inspired to capture what my mind has worked on during my slumber. I pick up a pen and a pad, but drop them again. Because I have to go to the bathroom. While I am in there I repeat three or four of the words Over and over, so I do not lose them. The kitchen has a snack waiting. I need to take a couple of pills too. I am ready to fully capture and write this poem now. Six minutes later. I pick up the pen and pad, Poised and ready to write whatever my dream has imagined. Trixie is irritated with me. She refuses to give me a single word. Come on! I argue. You are the one who woke ME up. After tossing and turning I finally get back to sleep where Trixie works for hours on a poem I never see.