Another mother of a blank page staring me down, like Uncle Sam pointing his finger, “I need you!”
I lack the wind for a stellar sail, so I’ll drift in an eddy until I’m ready.
To shoot! Down the rapids of relief. And to swirl in a pool of dreams of which I long.
Not a penniless pauper with a bent cardboard sign nor a joker with a poker ribbing the mime.
A baker’s dozen cousin, this recipe guarantees you’ll be back for more.
Until then, I slide and slip and flip my lid to the crowd; Adieu and good night.