Between yesterday’s meeting, tomorrow’s
Minutes, take a day off – before the night.
Detach the phone, get two hours’ silence,
No shortage of paper – I write and write.

Paper abounds, mountains of old stuff,
Teetering piles on shelf and bed –
Letters and minutes and drafts of textbooks,
Petitions and protests – all good and all dead!

My pen flies over the shadowed blanks,
A gulf in the mind opens up. Out spew
Thoughts and words and fierce connections.
It may be tripe – but all of it’s new!

Let the rhymes shape it, then type it up,
Put in a comma, and what does it say?
Here on a fresh sheet of paper’s a poem.
Open the door – the wind blows it away!