I sit and watch the speeding clock,
my words sealed tight with key and lock.
No images to soothe or shock,
no work that isn’t poppycock.
The keyboard’s job: to harshly mock
my efforts that are often schlock.
This writing life can be a crock
when weighted down by writer’s block.
© Susan Schoeffield
Written for the 2/5/14 Poetic Asides prompt: write a “work” poem.