revolt in the ranks

I have just spent one hour and a half
handicapping tomorrow’s
card.
when am I going to get at the poems?
well, they’ll just have to wait,
they’ll have to warm their feet in the
ante-room
where they’ll sit gossiping about
me.
“this Chinaski, doesn’t he realize that
without us he would have long ago
gone mad, been dead…?”
“he knows, he just thinks he can have
us at his beck and call!”
“he’s an ingrate!”
“let’s give him a writer’s block!”
“yeah!”
“yeah!”
“yeah!”
the little poems kick up their heels
and laugh.
then the biggest one gets up and
walks toward the door.
“hey, where you going?” he is
asked.
“somewhere where I am
appreciated.”
then, he
vanishes.

I open a beer, sit down to the
machine and nothing
happens.

like now.