Thought You Would Write Without Me
I am sitting in hovel writing nothing
For the hovel has taken every last drop of energy.
Hey, wait. Is that an ant?
An ant in the winter?
What is she doing?
I get out my magnifying glass of course.
She is wearing a backpack full of something that has a sweet smell.
Pardon me, I say. Can I have a tiny taste of that?
You would take the food out of the mouth of sixty ants? She asks me.
Lucky that I talk ant.
I back away.
Trixie walks over and kicks my hand.
You are horrible! She tells me.
I had forgotten I was supposed to wake her when I got up.
There is nothing more exasperating than an angry muse.
Thought you’d write something without me?
Well, yes, um….. I am stammering now.
We kind of have a little rule.
She whisks away and stomps off.
Out of all the muses in all the imaginations
in all of the universes, I developed a female muse?
Hmmmmmm I have to ponder that.
But not right now.
The ant is doing a tango and her backpack just flew off.
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