Amused

Last Tuesday my muse

Packed a spare drape and a string of pearls

In a small, brass-bound, water-tight chest,

And flounced out,- though

Not before delivering a homily:

YOU, she said, pointedly, are a

Dis-grace.

Lying on the settee

Drinking Tea

Watching tv

Or

e n d l e s s l y

Playing Hearts on your

B l o o d y iPad.

I could see she was upset, so I looked up,

And said, not without sympathy:

Look, I USED to be a poet.

I flung words onto a page and watched them burn.

I slipped between sheets of paper;

I slapped a metaphor and

Tickled a simile but, I ask you,

Where did it get me?

'Precisely!' Hissed the pissed muse.

I ignored the point, but -

I had to smile.

'Slam the door behind you, won't you?' I requested,

A split infinity too late.