(Inspired by Joe O’C – for whom I’m sure it’s not like this!)
The great Artist is at work.
Around his house, his children move
in whispers, while
his wife lays down a dinner tray,
tells that it’s there
with two soft taps – no more – upon the study door.
The great Artist begs his work
to yield to him, to offer up
its answers, while
outside, his children move away
(as children always will, towards play)
and food that took
an hour to cook – or more – turns cold there on the floor.