A poem written by Barb Force
Last Sunday Writers are writing poetry!
Yes, that is me.
I jot down thoughts.
They are all jumbled.
Thoughts race at the dog park.
Words careen as I drive.
Ideas soar and dance at the symphony.
Thoughts move to the rhythm at water aerobics.
Subjects change lanes on the freeway.
Words swirl around in my dreams,
But when I wake, they are gone.
And the paper: empty.
I set aside time.
The insistent telephone interrupts.
The lawyer-we need to talk.
The tenant-the refrigerator isn’t working.
The broker-about the re-fi.
The nurse-Mom hurt her hand.
My cousin- Aunt Terri went on hospice.
Constant drip drip – need new water heater.
Am I supposed to write?