#767: The Muses

The muses are doom-scrolling on their cell phones
while we mortals look for inspiration in pocket fuzz,
lint traps, duty-free liquor, or by doom-scrolling on
our cell phones. This can’t end well. I wrote:
“She grimaced as her hand tightened into a fish.”
This becomes the premise for a new novel.
The muses have forgotten why they picked up
their phones in the first place. Only a vague
notion remains that there was a determinant
purpose, an email to write, a text to send, a voice
memo to record, a call to make, but suddenly they
are overwhelmed and lost in TikTok videos and
they can’t stop. They are all either horrified
or entertained or both and they grimace or
chuckle to themselves while standing there
together in complete isolation. I stand down here,
listening to my records, trying to write a poem,
wondering why I don’t read more, and I’ve left
my cell phone in the kitchen where it chirps
and calls and beckons for me to come and
pick it up, while the Muses shirk their duties
in heavenly indifference.