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When stuck 

But knowing I need to write -

If only to keep up the pretence

That I'm a writer -

I turn to the familiar rant

Against this blank page.

What a con.

As if I don't know

That I've nothing to say

And am simply

Filing space

Like a monkey give

A pencil.

Sally writes a diary

Religiously, every day,

And in a way

These poems serve the same end;

But if they are only for me

Why are they so difficult to write?

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 8.1.24