The Truth About Tigers

Sometimes, while staring at a blank page,
the mind wanders,
stretching to absurd lengths
to dodge the task at hand.

Asinine thoughts swirl—
out of place in a coffee shop
at 7 a.m. on a Tuesday,
and probably just as much anywhere else,
at any other time,
on any other day.

Should I reignite my old cigarette habit?
Would a third espresso unleash creativity?
Is a hermit’s beard and mountain seclusion the key?

“Stop it,” I tell myself,
forcefully,
aloud,
likely sounding insane
to anyone within earshot.

There might be merit
in one of those musings—
just not now.

Now the instruction is to
Just
Write.

To splatter mind matter on the blank page
and see if, amid the mess,
something worth keeping
shows up.