A POEM - WAITING FOR THE MUSE

WAITING FOR THE MUSE
The walls were so thin
That two rooms down
You could hear a person
Clipping his nails,
Or pushing out a fart.
I was just lying in bed
Thinking about her tits.
It seemed a fine way
To pass the day.
For the heat outside was brutal
Like a punch in the gut
And the sunlight was sharp
Like a slap to the face.
“I come at nine, or eight, maybe,”
She’d said to me over the phone.
“I go shopping with friend.”
“all right then, baby.
Have a good day.”
There were things I could do,
Places I could go, sights to see.
There was Lumphini Park,
That Emerald Buddha
Which people talked about.
I could go to a movie theatre
And sit in the dark.
Or go visit the pool hustlers
And the whores on Sukhumvit Road.
But nothing was as fine,
As holing up in that dark room,
Thinking about her tits,
And waiting on the muse.