This one was sparked into creation this afternoon, upon listening to this Prairie Home Companion broadcast from 2015, at the 4:00 mark with the poem “The Suggestion Box.“ Billy is correct about Poets often being told what to write about but more annoying, to me anyway, is being interrupted while in the act of creation. This poem describes why, and how the gift of the muse cannot be stymied completely, even if interrupted in the middle of channeling her.
The Perfect Metaphor
You’d better not be writing about me
is the most common intrusion, followed by
You’re a writer, huh? Who hurt you?
and Do you miss having a paycheck?
Usually, I just laugh it off, knowing
when to pick my battles and when
to let the fog of war lift before
launching a full frontal assault.
But when the fat guy in his $1,300 suit
walked up just as the perfect metaphor
had landed precariously
on the thin branch of my mind,
and asked me Hey buddy, you a writer?
I lost my shit and, setting down my beer
and jumping to my feet, yelled
Jesus Christ, man, do I come
to your place of work and interrupt you?
The place had just quieted down
and I looked around at the blank faces
and open mouths and, before
I could apologize, I was promptly
removed from the bar, grasping in vain
for my pen and notebook which were
tumbling to the ground,
which come to think of it,
is the metaphor
I had been looking for
all along.
