Appointments Only - Dec. 9, 2026

sleepless nights,

those ancient 3 a.m.’s,

come to mind, when ideas

would pound on my skull,

pry the eyelids apart

slip inside and run around,

force the lamp on to see

their names scribbled

in the bedside notebook

now, they enter quietly

sit in the waiting room,

drinks and snacks might be

passed around or lunch served

as they otherwise, kill time

with a civil patience

once ushered in it’s all very

relaxed - they talk as I write -

though I first look them straight

in the eye and ask

tell me, honestly,

do you think there’s a decent poem

in what you have to say?