Saturday Poem by M.C. Bruce

Saturday



The dogs are quiet
The washing machine groans
My girl naps and snores
And I am calling on the muse

Who seems peevish
That I should be tapping
A poem out with one hand
Without benefit of ink.

Oh for the days, she sighs,
When poets sharpened a quill
And sat pensively in candlelight
And courted me properly.

I apologize for the twenty first
Century, I say. We are an impatient
People who sharpen damned little
Who rely on spell correct to keep

Ourselves honest, often with comic
Results. Well, she sighs, if you must,
Come a little closer. Kissed by the muse
I sharpen my heart and listen.

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M.C. Bruce

M.C. Bruce

Orange, California
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