On Being Lazy
I do have to get out of here, this cozy apartment,
otherwise I won't write a word today.
I managed to sleep in until after six and I don't feel guilty.
I'd say woo hoo here, but I'm still groggy.
The coffee hasn't done it's magic yet.
So, here I sit in front of my laptop
and notice I need to shave. It isn't much stubble,
but it makes a reasonable excuse
for getting up and not looking at my computer.
I'm back from my attempt at shaving.
The water heater isn't running. I'll wait before shaving.
Let me sit and stare at the screen some more
and hope some electronic muse sends me an email.
Obviously, I'll have to self-start.
Let's see, yesterday I wrote about a painting in the Louvre,
one I know quite well and understand
some of what is invisible to first time viewers. Done that.
Last night's dinner conversation was interesting.
How about that as a source for a poem?
We spoke of the experience of death and few at the table
had much with death or even danger.
There was the question of what famous person
they would like to have dinner with
and no one had ever heard of the person I named
and each of the others spoke of TV hotties I didn't know.
Finally, one rich topic came up that engaged everyone:
what was your favorite breakfast cereal growing up?
All named well known products: Fruity Pebbles, Kix, Coco Puffs,
Honey Frosted Oats, Frosted Flakes, the one that has the toucan on the box,
and another said she just liked a bowl of milk with a quarter cup of sugar.
Then they wanted to know how I started the day as a child.
I told them that having a carpenter for a dad meant we didn't have money
for fancy cereals. In the morning, dad poured me a smaller cup of black coffee
than what he drank. Then I ate nails with sawdust.
The water must be warm by now.
I'll shave and go out and find something to write about.