So used are we to writing in our solitudes
that when we meet we sit around and wait
for someone else to do that which will break this mood
that makes us feel like wallflowers on a date.
And when somebody reads we give it soft applause
not knowing what the hell to say or think;
I know I seldom follow what is read because
I’m wishing I were half way through a drink.
Would it make sense to any of us gathered here
on the third Monday every month it seems
to listen to a speaker who would rhapsodize
on subjects that would fertilize our dreams?
For if you put such writers in a room as this,
then surely, motivation is a writer’s bliss .
