Day's over, for the most part. This is when I write.
The chores which I could do are done, the nagging
Social obligations. How the weather was becomes
A meaningless consideration. I may check the evening
News, but not just yet, since what I'd read, the anvil
Clang of fascist hammers smashing down democracy,
Depresses, and it's nothing new. The stories I would
Read would surely repeat those I've read before.
Instead, I pour a good, stout drink and wipe whatever
Had been on it from my trusty tablet's screen,
And stare at either what's outside or what the kids
Left on the floor, and listen for a melody, a reason
I should write.