What Are You Typing

I have to deliberate an idea for about a month he said. I began to type. It forms slowly, sometimes in a painful way, he whines. I am half listening. Words are pinging onto the page with rapid precision. I do not understand how anyone can write a worthwhile poem in less than three weeks, he tells me. Bam. Poem number one is finished. Sometimes I have to edit it nineteen times, he laments. Whap! Poem number two is done. What are you typing? He asks me. Anything my muse likes, I tell him. I just follow her lead. Whack! Wham! Whim! Poems 4, 5 and 6 are happily completed while he gives me advice on how to write poetry.