Brenda

A Sunday discussion with my muse.

“Hey! Lockie! We should post something in that blog thingy you have going. You haven’t posted anything in there for a long time, man.”

“What are you going on about? I just posted…”

“Old news. Your readers want something fresh. Something you haven’t posted in a while. Like a poem. pick a poem and we’ll put it up.”

“NO! My poems suck, and you know that. You are the one who wakes me up at night to write the darn things out of my head, remember?”

“Pick a poem and get on with it.”

“I’ll show you. I’ll pick the fourteenth piece in the file, no matter what it is. …Oh boy. I hope my sister in law is not too upset.”

Brenda

I washed your dish tonight.
Or should I say bowl.
Felt grooves upon the clay
Your fingers made this throw.

Your mind controlled
Your hands took hold
You made this wonderful piece.
With finger grooves,
And colored swirls,
And signed it underneath!

Clay a whirling, fingers curling
What did you think?
My beautiful work of art
At the bottom of the sink?

Brenda

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