A Writer’s Snare.
I am leaving on a jet plane.
Not sure if I’ll be back. Don’t complain.
What am I saying? I’ll be right here.
I am not leaving. You have nothing to fear.
I’m just fooling around with lyrics from songs.
There is no way I’ll be saying so long.
As I come closer, inch by inch.
I am more quiet than the Grinch.
Still fooling around with words.
Quit saying it is for the birds.
O.k., I have never seen a tree
with a bark as pretty as thee.
What? That’s poetry, is it not?
Funny, all you can do is squawk.
He tucked, he rolled, he stopped.
He managed to ditch the cop.
All right, all right, I will try it again.
Tonight, after dark, when all is free.
You will find me hugging my TV.
Fine, I’ll quit writing when you are present.
I would just as soon be eating pheasant.
Thank God, she is finally gone.
Now, maybe, I can write that song.
I forgot what I was going to write now?
A short nap and it will come to me somehow.
———————————-R.W. Johnson—–(2018)