poetic justice

Muse Blues


I haven’t wrote a single verse
in over thirty days
My fickle muse is playing me
in not so subtle ways

My best friend wrote a ballad and
my brother wrote an ode
The seeds of my suspicion now
beginning to be sowed

I went to see my doctor who
for diagnosis said
in iambic pentameter
it all was in my head

So I ran off to find the priest
and he confessed to me
that limericks were helping him
spice up his homily

I hired a detective then
to find out where she slept
When he reported back to me
I bowed my head and wept

The milkman signed a book deal and
he’s getting good reviews
while I stay up alone at night
cuckolded by my muse

-The Unknown Poet