The Poem Nibbles around the Edge

trying to tell me something

my brain is tired,

has no room for words

Maybe a little solitaire

or electronic spades

or talking to the dog,

The one who doesn’t care

whether I am poetic

but only if I can take her out

and fix her a fancy breakfast

But the poem

keeps coming back

a shadow of a nightmare

until the sacrifice

is made

lines on the page.