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.
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