Digging For Nuggets Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

You got to work and sweat, kid!

The old prospector looked up at me
as he squatted on the river bank.
He held a battered pan and washed
grains of sand and gravel in river water.

It was a cold day in the middle of July
with clouds overhead and a stiff breeze
blowing from the north. I was tired
and weary of squatting and sifting dirt.

It was years later when it dawned on me
that prospecting was very like writing
You sit in front of the monitor
and sift through ragged thoughts
trying to glean a nugget of metaphor
from the stream of consciousness.

Then suddenly light breaks through
you warm to the task and see...
there in the light, a sparkling metaphor.
You grasp it before it eludes you
and flows away - you hold it aloft!
I finally struck gold!