The Reluctant Muse
By
Justin Dowling
My friend is gone. She pulled the plug. Fini.
A bit of my heart has gone away from me,
He thinks. But I still find just the thought
Of this small meanness too much overwrought
With irony, with a treatment full of hate, 5
When forgiveness ought to flavor my bitter plate.
She’s wrong, Erato is, his reluctant muse.
Apparently he thinks she’s there to use,
When all he thinks and all he feels, she knows,
Isn’t a flap of skin off our muse’s nose. 10
“WTF” he sighs, deflated by the loss,
As if for poetry she ever gave a toss.
Well, it’s OK that the muse lives without the poem.
It takes a living muse to find love at home.
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