We all have days where we feel like Billy Collins does in "Some Days" (from Sailing Alone Around the Room: New and Selected Poems [811.54 COL]). His last two lines are the perfect description of a day spent in front of a computer, typewriter, paper and pencil (whatever is his favored tool of composition) and NOT writing.
Some days I put the people in their places at the table,
bend their legs at the knees,
if they come with that feature,
and fix them into the tiny wooden chairs.
All afternoon they face one another,
the man in the brown suit,
the woman in the blue dress,
perfectly motionless, perfectly behaved.
But other days, I am the one
who is lifted up by the ribs,
then lowered into the dining room of a dollhouse
to sit with the others at the long table.
but how would you like it
if you never knew from one day to the next
if you were going to spend it
striding around like a vivid god,
your shoulders in the clouds,
or sitting down there amidst the wallpaper,
staring straight ahead with your little plastic face?
The Poetry Friday Round-Up is being held at Violet Nesdoly/poems.