Going out with a whimper...only one again today, and I don't like it. The PA prompt was to write a poem with the phrase "In the (blank) of (blank)", fill in the blanks and use it as the poem's title. Either my brain is fried, or I just didn't feel the prompt at all.
In the last gasp of evening
Images hide from brain waves that cannot
fire up, cannot find an ounce of clarity
among the clutter of television noise,
the light hum of small electronics.
You hide after the silent treatment,
take it out on the floor in a late workout,
burn worn knee tissue with lunges,
push with extra crunches, sit alone in the
dark and disappear into the clutches of
reality tv and mindless internet surfing.
The dirty dishes will be there in the morning,
but your muse has ditched you, ran off to
Atlantic City with some dark haired, pierced
up musician type who'll get her plastered and
have his way with her. Leave out one of the
last two cupcakes in the kitchen. Maybe the
pink frosting will be eye candy enough to
lure her back and revive what's left of your brain.