Following Me

It doesn’t pay to write things like “poetry class is getting easier.” No. I have been keeping my appointments with the muse. In fact, she follows me around taunting me. We’re not on good terms. I was ready to hand in my poem on Monday, but it seemed like maybe it could be revised, a little, not too much. So, I keep the Word file with the poem open in the background while I’m working on other things, like the work that actually pays my bills. I now have about five versions of the poem hanging around in the background and not half as much “real” work done as I should. The poem seems to be taking on a life of its own. This morning it told me that I’m not really saying what it wants to say. Jeez. Does this poem know I have a five-page paper due? That my dryer door is being held on by duct tape that melts every time the dryer heats up and really should be replaced, if I would just take the time to order the parts? There should have been an announcement at the beginning of poetry class, “Poems are like children…” Then I would have known enough to run away.