If your poem doesn’t contain truth and music, try again in a new poem.
— Peter Bakowski
On Wednesday the page stares blank
around him poets birth success
His creativity cobwebbed, crucified
he excavates and excavates
he labours and labours
intoxicated by dry absurdity
Frankly, his noble ambition, his
glasshouse heroism for once fails him
Overcome by a deep thirst he reaches
for a tequila the bloody Mary scatter-
brained on a single ginger beer
he decides to do the dishes
Sadly, no encouragement accompanied
the incoming message on his mobile phone
Wrecked inspiration, worn-out fervour
half-hearted pages crumpled in the corner
He asks his wife to dance, the music flows
into her coconut-flavoured hair
In the morning he submits that dance
poem and wins the Rhysling Award.
* * * * *
Marhta Landman resides in tropical Queensland, Australia, where she procrastinates on all other tasks to feed her poetry addiction. Her contributions to Snake-Oil Cure can be found here.
Dr. Hurley's Snake-Oil Cure 