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Blisters
by
Sue Marier
Rough, dry, scaly hands
Scribbling away anxiously
blisters forming, red welts
on the insides of my index finger.
My pen, ready to dropping to the floor
Instead it remains glued in place
As I feverishly get thoughts on paper
Ideas can't flow fast enough
My mind is racing
Trying to beat the clock
Before the next interruption,
Phone call, beckon to assist a child.
Losing my concentration
The process can't be continued
Just anytime, anywhere
The mood and surrounding conditions
needs to be just right.
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