What kind of day is it

Where there is only one poem

                        At the end?

All day long

Bullshit. 

            And you worry

Because who wants to lose a day?

At some point though you are resigned

And let yourself be taken by the world-

                                                           

                                                            After all

It is the world that has granted you the poem.

So you do her work, you

Sweep and pray and feed the animals

And when she’s done with you

And you’re cozy in bed

And you’re thinking it wasn’t such a bad day after all

And wouldn’t be so bad were it this day everyday,

            If that’s how things had to be,

            If there was no time or space or heart for poetry           

            Despite how such a thought had frightened you before

            Despite what an empty, barren desert the prospect is

            Or how close it has taken you to doing yourself in -

Inspiration!

Like a drunken roommate

            Returns.