So I asked my wife today
Just what I should write about
Quizzical she looked at me
Perplexed that I asked, no doubt
Just like this dread pandemic
Writer’s block, the fourth wave’s out
Three other times I’ve suffered
But this one’s worse, dreadful drought
My brain’s fogged up and cluttered
And all verses have gone south
No new concepts come to mind
No words issue from my mouth
Befuddled, searching for words
Metaphors complete blackout
Rhyming patterns out of whack
Perhaps I should scream and shout
And all day long, moan groan sigh
Or stare blankly at the sky!
08-26-2021
© Vic Evora