My Muse woke me up ... again

It's the wee hours, and I'm fast asleep, when my Muse wakes me up with an idea, and I find myself strenuously bidden to  get up and write it down.  Such was the case with the following poem:

There's a Pill For That

Doc is in the office
Pulling up your chart
Eyeing all your symptoms
Matching part to part
Like a good mechanic
Knows his list by heart
Bottles at the ready
Lifts one from his cart:
"There's a pill for that."

Took the stuff he gave me.
Waited through the night.
Knew by early morning
Something wasn’t right
Vision got all blurry
Stomach feeling tight
Ran back to that doctor
Looking for a fight.
"There’s a pill for that."

Monkeys in the basement
Zebras on the roof
Rodents rule the hallways
Hoarding all the loot
Short evaluation
Sentenced to a room
No need for attendants
To monitor your tomb:
There’s a pill for that.

I never know when my Muse will do this, nor what she will have in mind, but if I don't comply I'll wake up later that morning with a profound sense that she would have given me an epic piece of poetry to write and that I'd, regretably, had missed it entirely.  So, I do rise and jot at least the idea down.  In this case, I worked on the poem for a few hours.

It's not all in the hands of my Muse, this process of writing, but her initial ideas are usually worth the blurry eyes and the struggle to stay awake.  In this case, I found her smirkiness somewhat amusing as she nudged me along.

Ah well.  Such is the fate of a poet with an independant and willfull Muse.   

 
​
​