i have this story in my head
and it sounds all original and interesting,
but then i go to write it, and i discover that i no longer have fingers to type,
and then my eyesight slowly starts to fade until all
i see is blurred squiggles dancing on a screen,
laughing at how i can’t finish a thought,
so i might as well go play mario kart
some people say there’s a shoe out there for every foot,
but i don’t know if that shoe would fix the scar from the ganglion cyst surgery i had in my twenties,
nor the hangnail that’s developed on my right big toe that begins to hurt
before hurricane season,
but who knows, seems like medical science is making marvelous discoveries
every day about how to walk from one side of the country to the next
i sat up all night waiting for something romantic to happen,
not because i have a secret lover that comes through my neighborhood
at odd hours of the day,
but maybe it’s because i enjoy the silence of the night,
the brooding void that regenerates thoughts into motivation
that manifest their way into kitschy poems like this one,
but alas, i still don’t think i saw anything romantic happening last night
Fred Aiken Writing 