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Poem a Day December #7

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.

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