There comes a time
(always the same, mind you),
once a week,
when I go to meet the
creative creatures;
to draw them out of the mist
and onto the page
disguised as words and lines.
Oh, I am such a fool.
To think I have the power
to control these ever elusive fey,
these crafty subconscious critters,
these ideas.
It is they who find me.
They tug at the hem of my shirt
as I scrub the dishes or
poke me in the ribs
while I mindlessly watch
that great big box of distraction.
And what do I do?
Shoo! Get!
Be gone, foul demons!
I have no time for you now.
Come back when your beauty is more
convenient
for me!
Then, they are gone;
sometimes never to return.
Only once
in a rare moon
am I able to snag one
by its unique, beautiful tail and
then have the honor
of it allowing me to share
its glamour with the world.
Oh, the extraordinary ordinariness
of my life.
