I’m back and I lack, I admit.
I type lots of tripe. Might quit.
I slog through a bog, perplexed.
Long days in a haze. I’m scared.
Can’t think. On the brink. Impaired.
I’m fogged in the smog. I’m vexed.
It’s time for a rhyme or two.
I’m fine. Write a line. It’s due.
I jog, clear the clog, wipe specs.
© Susan Schoeffield
Today is Day 31 of Creative Bloomings “Granada Camp for Wayward Poets.” We’ve survived the grueling pace at camp and now things are back to normal. But what is “normal” and what we do now, poetically speaking?