Curing Writer's Block

Our poet needs ideas - something quite profound -
as subject matter for his next poem. Blank! His mind
is totally blank. So he goes to the park to think. All around
are people doing noisy people things. He had hoped to find

the park deserted. Instead, the bench across from him
holds an older man engaged in feeding nuts to squirrels.
He must do this often, as he appears to recognize them,
and they are eating from his hand. Suddenly, he hurls

a squirrel toward a tree. Rocky he ‘aint! Instead he flies
awkwardly through the air, hitting the trunk hard. “Ingrate!
Bite me will you? I hope that I killed you!” Next he tries
to stomp the squirrel, but it escapes up the tree. Still irate,

the man storms away, muttering about “squirrel stew”. Along
the pathway comes a young couple, acting like it’s “first love”.
Our poet thinks “Earrings on a boy, tattoos on a girl don’t belong!
And grabbing each other in public - what are they thinking of?”

An elderly couple pass by, holding hands. “Gee, they must
have been married forever. What stories they surely have to tell.”
A jogger approaches, getting his exercise, looking good. Just
as he draws near, he collapses in a heap. Soon someone yells

“Call 911”, and forty-eight cellular phones materialize. A nurse
begins CPR, as a crowd gathers around. Things are too hectic.
The distant siren foretells the arrival of an ambulance…or hearse.
“I am not going to get any ideas here! I’ll just go write an acrostic.”

Harry Edward Gilleland      12.29.02