|
| |
My Muse Is Under the Credenza
I want to write a poem today
but the wood insists on ritual—
Pledge and patience, lemon oil,
a soft cloth circling
what must be remembered.
The coffee table’s judging me.
The hutch has turned authoritarian.
Even the banister
is giving me splintery side-eye,
and the bureau just rolled its drawers.
My muse, naturally,
has curled up in the dust bunny
beneath the credenza,
refusing to come out
until the piano gleams.
So I write this poem as an act
of defiance in the face
of domestic tyranny.
Screw the chores I say,
art matters more anyway.
Copyright ©
Roxanne Andorfer
|
|