This poem is about …

So, what should I write a poem about ?
The train growls , it wants an ode,
About how it carries millions home.
I detest the train for the sound it makes,
No way I will write about things I hate.
Saturday mornings purr, nobody writes of it,
And the hope of two free days it brings.
I wake up with hangovers in these mornings,
With hardly a coherent thought to mould a poem.
The alcohol in my body wrings my soul,
Perhaps that is something I can stitch a few words on.
The ice cubes protest, they had a part to play too,
I stay out of it and pour myself an on-the-rocks drink.
Staring at the computer for two hours now,
I have written and deleted so many words.
The road not taken that made all the difference, maybe?
No, that path has already been taken.
Can’t write about my unconquerable soul,
Nor about the Grecian urn.
Maybe I can write about my fickle mind?
Which has created a mess of my creative process?
Then again, I should stay out of that can of worms,
The darkness will blot my white screen beyond repair.

