By working out at the pome machine each daY
Counting, listing, and composing, mumbling, “Lummox,
Dunderhead, my pome machine is so broke, woW!
Every idea I ever had seems, LuV,
Fled from my brain, off in the bayoU, in a mumU
Getting on the bus without me, abrupT,
Hightailing away, the sonnets, haikus and glosaS.
I need though, thirty days of this, altogether,
Jump-starting my way from the ghazals of IraQ,
Keeping at it through haiku, free verse, wishing for an apP
Like those that exist for other tasks, arriving at last tO
MeaN.”
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