If I were clairvoyant
I wouldn’t have to peek
and my pancakes
would all be perfectly browned
without one edge curling
bent out shape
with my indecision.
But it isn’t my fault
for it is God
who messed with my head
tossing and turning
my hair as I slept
checking to see
if I was perfectly
done.
October doors
are closing,
friendly apps
turned off.
November is beguiling.
My fingers curling
eager to be
keyboard warm.
NaNoWriMo looms
its challenge
fighting against
my PA plan.
Dangling
my internal
power cord,
a hypnotic STOP
watch shouts:
Time for me!
My last evening energy,
wasted on wishing
for your cryptic call.
But melodic music
drew me in too deep
where I knew I shouldn’t wade.
Tonight I sway my skirt,
a subtle slippery wave
willing you to wander by.
Yet no tap settles on my shoulder,
no lonely dashing dancer
coming to cut in.
I’ll be the juicy joke,
the horrid headline
in tomorrow’s tell-tale paper.
Yet tonight I tempt,
my princess parade wave
lost in your laughter.