“I didn’t write a poem today…”

“I didn’t write a poem today…”

instead it wrote me
between my preoccupation
with the detailed
day and endless
routine
threatening no time
from dusk to dawn
to lend myself to me.
Poems and I, bedfellows now
for nearly two weeks,
this poem,
unsmitten
by work ethics,
flat refused
to be unwritten.
Under the boss’s eye, it
ushers me to
the back
directs me to
my closeted purse and
evacuates my cell
while all the while
decrying, “To hell
with all of that!
Open your Notes. I’ll
dictate.
You finger me
like a text.
When you’re done,
damnit,
go back and
carry on.”

(c) Claudia Moss 4/20/2015

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