Friday, March 27, 2009

#401: Another Friday Job

Why is it every Friday afternoon
I get so lazy, lose my will to write?
I put the pen to paper, sure, but soon
it's back to themes like this, cliched and trite.

A piece about *not* writing poetry
has always seemed a cop-out most obtuse;
It's navel-gazing to the nth degree,
for which I normally have little use.

But now in my old age I understand
why poets do this time and time again--
it's watching the poetic grains of sand
slip through, until the weekend can begin.

If in this battle I turn tail and flee,
At least I know I'm in good company.

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