Not a harp

To be a writer
Is to be buried
Alive, first thing
Every morning.
I emerge from my bunker
At noon holding my head
Having written
Or as likely
Having not written
'Lalla Rookh'.
Carrying in my hand a poker
Thinking that it is not a harp
I stand blinking in daylight
Trying to remember
Who the blazes I am,
Where the blazes I am going.
What the blazes I am doing with a poker in my hand
Which I know very well is not a harp.

Paul Durcan