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.
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