WHY I don’t Write, or Some Artificial Reasons

Anything is a good excuse.
There is always laundry (although
I rarely go to the basement to do it)
and then there is the problem
of words. Where are they?
What about depositing the check
that’s been sitting on my desk for a week?
I should really pick up
some bottled water. I haven’t talked
to my friend Sue in months. Going to
yoga class is a good idea. I feel
a little stiff. The library books
are nearly due. We don’t have
what we need for dinner. And
maybe I’m not a real writer anyway.
Then what?