I have nothing of real importance to do today
Nothing urgent which I must get done
I sneak a peek out the window
Yes, it’s still sunny
There are still no movements to the palms
The paper said in could get to 90 today
Sounds just about perfect
So why so sluggish?
Why ya moving so slow, kiddo?
No answers come to mind
So best to just let the thought fade
But before I can the voice of reason pipes up
You could wash and wax the car?
You could finish touching up the paint in the bedroom?
Go for hike?
No, too hot
Ride your bike?
No and no
God damn it, no
Fine, just be like this
At times you wonder why people call you a dick?
Now you have an answer
Well, if nothing else
At least write something
And make sure it’s good
Something you can live with,
Ok, ok, ok
I’ll try to write at the old typer
See what I can pound out of her
So I mix an old standby, just like Frank used to do
3 cubes, 2 fingers and a splash of water
Then I went and sat by that old bitch of a machine
2 hours and 5 drinks later,
I am still here
And I never did write anything truly great,
Nothing of any real substance
But there will days like this, I know
Never finish the next great American poem
No big prizes for the writing
Nope, not today
And actually, I only wrote one piece that whole time
And you just finished reading it
© Dicky J Loweman 2015