Sometimes

It's the kind feeling

that any writer gets

if he's got a few muses

that don't seem to put

much effort into their jobs,

kinda like the writer himself

who can't seem to get

off the sofa and go back to work.

He'll come across a piece of writing

that'll simply blows the doors

out of the walls he's built

to keep himself from being successful.

Yeah, that kind of writing.

So all of a sudden he realizes

that's he's never been

entirely grateful

to the muses he does have.

He's got to say thank you

for even the crappiest writing

he's ever done

because somewhere,

sometime,

someone will find something

he's written that'll blow the doors

out of the walls

of some other writer

who is going through

a crisis of muses.

He'll spend part of his day

thinking how he'd like

to write better

and then he's reminded

that he couldn't give up

the muses he does have

for the ones he doesn't know.

They'd be strangers.

Damn strangers running

around in his head

tapping words he's forgotten

to play with for awhile.

Some of those words

wouldn't fit into any keyhole

of the locks in the doors

now laying on the floor.

So, with a grateful heart

he picks up the doors

to rehang on the frames

that've been damaged.

Get out the screw driver,

the hammer, the chisel,

and the drill.

It's time to go to work

and quit laying

on the sofa

thinking the typer

will put those unfamiliar

words to work,

when the old, comfortable ones

from the muses he knows

will do.

The project will be a mix

of the old and the new.

Adding a muse will mean

finding some new colors

with which to paint

the repaired doors.

How about cerulean.

It's a color word

he's never used

from his new muse.

The old muses are scratching

their beards the way

old men who've let themselves go

stare into oblivion

thinking about something

they've never encountered.

OK, they say, we'll run with it.

The writer pauses to thank

his small committee of helpers

then proceeds to pelt his page

with bravado.

Please people, he writes,

the color was fine, but must

we be celebrating with bravado?

Stuttering, the new muses

and the old muses begin

their next moments

with an “uh, uh, uh!?”

in a combined chorus

that gives the writer

a chance to think

about his next move.

Okay, thank you, thank you,

we're bound to find out

the next phase

sometime.

Barry G. Wick