Yesterday, I woke and ticked off
my usual routine until 10:45 a.m.
when as I was cleaning the toilet, it hit me
like a winning lottery ticket.
I’ve been writing since 11:00 am.
Nine chapters -over 6700 words.
And now like a scorned lover, it leaves me.
I go to the diner to regroup –
lost in a vacuum of meaningless words-
and order my amelioration:
medium rare calf’s liver
with two eggs over easy and hash browns,
Rachael, my waitress, knows to include
a diet Coke to the order.
I blankly stare out the window.
Rachael arrives with my food.
There are sparks between Rachael and me
but now is not the time to add fuel.
I smile in appreciation.
Half way through the liver and eggs,
it strikes again like a slap in the face.
Grabbing one napkin after another,
I write in between bites of liver
and hash browns.
Rachael arrives, senses my frenzy
and softly retreats.
There are napkins scattered all over
the Formica table top.
I methodically number them and
place them in my shirt pocket.
The clock over the cashier counter
reads 5:45 am.
Rachael’s shift is over at six.
Should I ask her for extra napkins?