Slaying Writer's Block
I squeeze my pencil and sit in shock.
How can I slay this writer's block.

I pace about until I see;
An ingrown hair taunting me

I'll get that hair,
I swear. I swear.

Oh my red and tender friend
Try to elude me if you can.

I twisted and turn
Positioned to see
The damnable ingrown;
Up past my knee.

It is hopeless for you to hide.
I've spied you perched on my backside.

I reached the way my reflection advised.
But the tweezers pinched my opposite side.

I pulled my nose in frustration.
And wondered at my fascination.

Why do I hunt?
What do I care?
So what there rides,
An ingrown hair.

Who will see it?
Who will know?
I do not plan a peeping show.

I lay my tweezers in a truce.
Untwist myself and write and hoot.

I've written I thought.
The first today,
Nothing can stop me.
I'm on my way...

Until I sit and feel the sore.


I take a breath.
And then I stare.
I'll get that hair;
I swear. I swear.

And then it whispered.
And then it spoke.
My ingrown hair,
Had a tongue and throat.

It laughed at me.
It sat on a stool.
It told me "I was such a fool."

You hunt for words without success.
You claim in error that I'm the pest.

What woudl you do with all your time.
If I weren't tingling on your spine.

You'd hem and haw.
You'd sneeze and scratch,
No words would you write...
And that's a fact.

So Thank me proper.
And not to be forgot.
This ingrown hair.
Is the slayer of writer's block.