Having completed his morning task
of filling at least a single screenful
of keyboard gibberish, he convinces himself
that he could —if he tried hard enough—
fill at least three or four inky pages
in his ancient black journal.
He sighs. He heaves. He straightens up
(as best a crooked, old, retired hulk can straighten)
and limps himself off to the kitchen
to pour his second cup of coffee
and await, pen in hand,
the second coming of his muse.
RDP Thursday ~ LIMP