I was grumpy this morning, out of sorts, my body creaked, my head was fuzzy,
the Black Dog has settled in beside me, the other dogs were hiding behind sofas,
under chairs. Love was hiding in the garden, whispering to the fairies there,
what is that mumbling old man in the house?
My fingers were numb, my camera off in a corner, my Apple was asleep,
humming softy, I was wondering where my antibiotics were, and if I had
taken them all.
The room brightened, my head began to spin, all kinds of colors on the wall.
My muse appeared on the dance floor, sitting on the edge of a grand piano,
in a long, red, silk gown, she was just radiant,
smoking a long thin cigarette in a smooth black holder.
So, she said, will you dance with me tonight?,
or will you look out at the gloomy clouds and count the losses,
find your pills,
and ponder your aches and pains,
maybe complain about how things used to be,
we are not getting any younger, eh, the world is not getting simpler!
All those people, in your life, those who neglect you and can’t understand you,
and walk through mists of sadness and confusion?
The band, she said, her eyes twinkling, is playing the
Samba, Merengue and The Cha-Cha-Cha, one slow dance perhaps,
dances of love and inspiration, get the heart beating a bit
singing songs of love and longing,
pull you back from that window.
What do you say, you big hunk of a man?,
will you dance with me?
Not today, I thought, not this morning,
I have no dances in me, but my Muse leaned over and kissed my forehead,
and pressed her breasts against my wary heart,
and I said, sure, I will dance with you,
and she nibbled on my ear a bit,
and we swirled and swirled, laughed and sang,
the colors from the chandelier tracing rainbows on the ceiling,
the band playing louder, faster,
and the world opened up for me, and I laughed and
joked with the stars, and the Black Dog flew out of the window,
and I turned to kiss her in gratitude,
and she was gone, and she left a card on the table,
“You and inspiration are lovers,” she said. “Go make love.”