New Desk Fever

designboom

I must sit down at my desk again, with surface of particle board,

And all I ask is a working Mac with power strip and cord,

And pencil drawer and file drawer with drafts aligned and waiting,

And a picture, you see, of my wife and me, both smiling, neither faking. 

I must sit down at my desk again, and scribble, feeling swell,

Waxing bold, if it must be told, because of the new desk smell,

And all I ask is a cup of joe and a YouTube playlist long,

And a run of words, no culls or turds; woven prose like merry song,

I must sit down at my desk again, to a solitary author's life,

To pages of mold, soon to be gold, once slashed with my editor's knife,

And all I ask is a sale or two, upon my journey's end,

And as I wait, in financial straits, I'll start to write again. 

(With apologies to John Masefield.)

Yes, I do have a new desk.

Poem to a Noisy Neighbor

Bossip

Shut up on this good night,

Pearl Jam thunders into day,

Raves with strangers liquored-up tight.

Balcony pot smoke dims sight.

Your duh-huh laugh is pretty gay,

Please take Ambien this good night.

Requests for quiet—go fly a kite,

Cops summoned June to May,

Feckless mother flounces away on another flight.

Ah, but you're young and light,

A teenage dunce with brains of hay,

Cotton in my ears at the coming of the night.

(Apologies to Dylan Thomas.)

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