I’m the unfinished poem
And you’re the deadline closing in way too soon.
This is not shaping up to be anyone’s best work.
You’re the chair with a faulty seat
And I’m the *** falling through.
Is it my fault for not checking first?
I’m the ambulance sirens wailing outside on your street,
But you’re the silence I need to concentrate.
How are you going to work with this?
You’re the hands typing away
And I’m the keyboard with a missing key.
Or maybe you’re missing a finger?
What about the deadline?
How is this going to work if you’re missing a finger?
Is this what’s making me the ***?
I might be the biggest obstacle you have,
And baby you’re not one for track and field.
Bring your best revision to the table,
I don’t think you’re saving this piece.
Whether this is a creative block or not,
You’re dealing with a failure to write.
