Ragged Return Poem by Andy Brookes

The Muse rode in this morning with her usual chaos in tow
looking at the waste paper bin full of parallel lines that never meet
I wonder if she's here to stay.
'Soooooo.'she says 'What's new.'

I give her a sour look

the idea that she can breeze as nothing has happened get my goat.

So she looks thoughtful. Someone.' she says.'Is not, I sense, happy.'

I refuse to answer but at least she's returned but to what extent I'm not too sure.

'Depression.' she says. 'Is an awful thing.' her mouth sounds sympathetic but her eyes have a wicked twinkle.

I am not depressed but we both know I'm lying, so why pretend already I sense the black dog is lifting so.....

though hangs heavy

I wish I say I didn't live with my nerves on the outside

'Buck up.' she chortles 'Summer's here.'

looking out on the grey cloudy morning, laughing,
a pithy retort on my lips I realist, as usual, she has flitted off at the crucial moment.