Sitting alone on this cold day
in a chair on the back deck
watching chill wind make trees sway
Muse almost forms....what the heck?

In my pocket buzzes my cell phone
just as I put pen to page
(now days we're never quite alone)
I crumple up an empty page.

Put the phone up to my ear
since the call Might have some import
and then what is it I hear?
A robo-call from some resort!

I flip the phone angrily closed,
not as satisfying as a slammed receiver,
then try once more to be composed
and become, once more, a muse receiver.

At last the first verse comes to mind
and poised pen scribbles it right down
then the muse is stricken blind
by that buzz that often makes me frown.

This time it's an appointment reminder
as if I'm too stupid to recall
but I bite my tongue and do not curse her.
I mumble a "thank you" is all..

#@%!! cell phone, the thought has left
and I sit with pages of mere blanks
as if all mental processes are cleft.
I silently whisper a sarcastic thanks.

Then put the cussed phone away
deciding I'll go for a ride
where no cell towers will get in the way.
Then down the road I quickly glide.

Then many miles away from home
the engine stops and there I sit
where no cell signals dare to roam
I wish I had that piece of s#it.