Mental Mush(perhaps next year)

Mental Mush(perhaps next year)

It's after breakfast at the hospital
where it's the annual visit
for the national research study
that occupies my life
every day and every three months

I've had my coffee
eggs and toast
orange juice

The nurse starts testing me
for mental cognition
At sixty-six the cogs
are a bit worn
even after coffee

I have a minute to give her
all the words I can name
with a set a rules of course
words that I'm not allowed to name
words that begin
with the letter “F”
A naturally nasty poet
like old numb nuts
ought to have a number
of such nouns
Did I say it was morning?
Two small cups is not enough
“Flagons” of coffee are necessary
to start the engine's “fires”
on the mental railway
that cogs up and down this “Fatterhorn”

I “fail”
a word I didn't mention

She's disappointed
and says a poet should do better
Ouch
My muse doesn't work that way
I think to myself
Words must be chewed
often a hundred times
like a “faceful” of brown rice
for the macrobiotic crowd
And there are times I must stare
at my wrinkling hands
before putting my “fingers”
on the keyboard
“fingers”
another word I didn't list
plus some words I “fabricated”

Days later I wake in the night
boiling in “F” words
My muse is asleep
I'm wide awake
“feet”
“fancy”
“forgiveness”
I try to think
if I have any dishes to wash
“fruit”
“finality”
“fixtures”
My bed becomes a “flatform”
which doesn't exist as a word
“feckless”
“flounder”
“flatulence”
This is better than morning coffee
I think “fortuitously”

Next year the same thing
though I don't know what letter
she'll select for the test
I promise myself to read
every dictionary
in the next year

My muse just laughs
He says he'll “flash”
all the “fancy” words
I can “facilitate”
to “feel” my way
though the “fields”
of poetry
I “fawn” over his
“felicitous” humor
as I “fixate” on the next dream
“falling” to sleep
“full” of “phantoms”
oops


Barry G. Wick