Writers Block

 Here, in the doctor’s office, as the nurse
sends me off with this paper cup

she encourages me saying,
“It’s O.K., we don’t need much”

though closing the bathroom door,
and standing there,

my bladder empty
like her words in the air,

I recall how, often,
facing my journal,

I’ve asked the muse for help,
and how I’ve waited until I felt the call--

as once again I feel it now:
no golden out-pouring

bold with bluff,
but a trickle, a dribble,

gold enough.
 

© Michael Glaser