Thom-tankh-amun

 Thom-tankh-amun

Argggh! Forgot my computer cord 50 miles back. 

Oh well, my daughter-in-law will send it in the snail mail today.

But until then I’m unplugged.

Kind of ironic that this e-marvel still depends

On the proper firing of cerebral circuits 

To remember a cord that gives electronic nourishment 

To a now-lifeless hunk of silicon. 

So until the e-teat arrives, it’s back to basics in my writing.

Pen in hand, scrap paper and wastebasket at the ready, it’s

Write, crumple, trash, start over,

Write, crumple, trash, start over,

Write, crumple, trash, start over, et cetera.

And only writer’s cramp and a full wastebasket to show for it.

Snail mail. How long did she say it would take?

Sounds achingly slow.

Like enough time to chisel my poems into stone like the ancient Egyptians.

The immortal musings of Thom-tankh-amun in great stone tablets.

Weighty words, if successful.

Let’s see...I’ll need a chisel, a hammer, and some big, flat rocks. This time it would be

Strike, crack, toss, start over,

Strike, crack, toss, start over,

Strike, crack, ouch, toss, start over, et cetera.

But, alas, no poetry. Just a mashed thumb, choice words of a different sort, 

And some seriously rough drafts.

Three days later, an e-ternity in today’s world, the cord is in my mailbox!

Now I can end, mercifully, my hieroglyphic fantasy, and bang-out some e-glyphics.

Nothing set in stone, until it goes to the printer, that is.

So here I go…

Type, edit, delete, start over,

Type, edit, delete, start over,

Type, edit, delete, start over, et cetera.

And, hopefully, after a few dozen deletes,

Type, save, go to the printer!!!

Amun be praised!