The day is very cold
My thoughts will not unfold
I sit feeling reticent
Still scant movement
Music might stimulate
It’s playing – I wait
The flow is blocked
Padlocked!
This experience’s a first
Could it get any worse?
Usually at a whim
the sitting poet is flowing
Shit!
Bull!
Gran would smack my lip
for words deemed awful
My eyes are now closed
Chin cupped in left hand
I await the prose
that eludes this man
