PINCHER BUG


I play the guitar
An indicator of
Writers block
The notebook screen
Stares at me
And I stare back
A blank page
Is always spooky
I play
Some odd riffs
And I remember
The bands
The gigs
The faithful fans
All 2000 miles away
I feel a pinch
On my bicep
The tiny bug
Likes my flesh
I brush it off
With the guitar pick
It lands on the desk
It runs through the labyrinth
Of cigarette packs
And lighters
Pens and tiny notebooks
I begin to feel a rash
I try to get it
With my fist
But I miss
I try a plastic pen
And it keeps
Running away
Then the green lighter
And it stops
I look at it
It lays there
It doesn’t move
Cut in half