Persuading The Muse
Tonight my know-it-all muse
glared at me, right in the eye,
“Can’t you write anything
besides these tear jerkers?
I mean, look at this!”
Pointing out several of my poems,
all about death, dying, pain, grief.
Can’t you write about anything else?”
In self defense, I stammered-
“I had always been told to write
what I know.
These are the things I know.”
You better start making crap up,
Life’s a comedy!
Can’t you write poetry to depict that?”
“At this very moment,
I could write a prize winning pulitzer
on how to kill a manic muse!”
“Hey, I’ve written some good stuff-
how ’bout the piece
on that Atlanta rape victim?”
” I knew you’d bring that up!
It was good, real good-
until the last two lines
where she blew his brains
into the pretty peach pillow.
Was she the perpetrator
or the victim at that point?”
“I’M the muse
and that was not my idea.
you climbed out of the box.”
“He deserved a pine box
I gave it to him.”
How about my ‘melons and marriage,’
Listen, how’s this?”
“Why can’t we find partners
the same way we shop for watermelons?
Thump and listen,
to see if they’re worthy of the knife!”
“With the grace of some exotic
dancer, she (the grape)
slinks free of her sleek purple dress,
to the thrusting tongue.”
Or I could say-
“She (the apple) peels away
her siren red dress,
revealing a raw tart-ness,
then rolls with a seedy, suggestive shrug,
against the firm-”
“Yeah, I’ll submit it just like that.
” It’ll die on the vine site-
throw it out with the rines”.
“Hey, my poetic endeavors
are on the line!
Give me something positive here!”
” What can I say? Just try to make my ideas yours-
or before long,
we’ll be known as spit and shine.”
“And I don’t have to guess WHO spit is.”
and remember that was your line.”
“Look, you want some coffee?
We may need to nitpick this another day.”
” Make it hot tea, with a spritz of lemon.
Got any decent metaphors in mind?”