Here's a surreal little poem that presented itself as an idea but had to be coaxed into becoming a poem. Many thanks to the Secrets for their perceptive comments and assistance.
Running on Empty
halfway
down
the page
his words
ran out
and the poem
not even captured
just sentences
in need of scaffolding
he checked his dictionary
empty
blank pages
awaiting a refill
he did not bother the thesaurus
it tutted at him
in that annoying didactic way
he could call out the page side recovery service
but the wait would be an hour or more
besides last time they told him
you need a whole new vocabulary mate
and look at them metaphors
worn away to thin things they are!
perhaps if he made a cup of tea
it might rally the other letters
I liked the idea of words running out like a car runs out of petrol. The idea of a page side recovery service followed on from the breakdown idea. I had difficulty finding an ending. I also liked the idea of the thesaurus being too proud to help. In reality the thesaurus was my life saver.
I think the poem is complete. It shall be put to one side for a while as usual.
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