Imagining Myself to be a Poet

 

 

 

Imagining myself to be a poet

 

Baby cradled in one arm

 

I wait for a flash of inspiration

 

 

Words seem to peel off my other arm

 

In strips, skin curling upwards,

 

Turning into crisps

 

 

My toddler picks one up and

 

eats it – Mummy, I want some

 

more, more!

 

 

All hope of an idea vanishes.

 

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