Muse
Arthur Gottlieb
get off my back,
we’re going nowhere together
you hang around my neck
like a dead albatross, bringing bad luck.
the one broken wing
you throw over my shoulder weighs a ton.
it’s no shawl and i’m no Atlas
bent on bearing the world’s worries.
once too often
you’ve used me for your own amusement,
making me believe
i could walk through mirrors, and then
crowing when i went to pieces.
you sit on the dresser pretending to be
a glassblower’s bird,
watching me break me head on the fragile
menagerie of my own reflections.
Cage-maker,
get out and take your wings with you.
i’m sick of canary songs
and your buzzed beak bearing
olive branches,
while picking my brains clean
down to the last stanza.
i’ll pack in my pen before paying you
the price of another poem.
hey,
don’t mistake patience for procrastination.
this is the dull lull before the storm.
i can tell you which way the wind is pointed
without wetting my thumb.
So, before i take aim, fair weather friend,
blow.
