can you finish
this for me, you
ask her, typing away
at the keyboard,
can you find an
appropriate ending
to this poem,
this story, this
stretched out piece
of writing that is
going nowhere.
let me see what you
have so far, she
says, read it to me.
so you do, which makes
her cringe and laugh,
it's junk, she says,
delete it all.
erase it and start
again. you're good
at that, aren't you.
you do it every
few years, or less.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment