A Writer's Lament

For John Updike

The words began to flow
out of his fingers
and out of his toes.

He heard the call
and answered the muse,
letting the words fall

onto the pages,
a story came to form,
one for the ages.

He wrote and he
wrote with each
pound to a key,

his vision blurred
as he punched
to write the last word.

Millions would read
this year's bestseller;
his publisher agreed

and decided to print
the thousands of copies
the bookstores were sent.

The reviews came in
and none were good.
He had written
a masterpiece,
worthy of the discount,
bookstore bin.

For Elaine, your granddaughter misses you and she's keeping it real.

Another Rhyme by Lindsay McCown

I'm just a beat cop, I said
ain't in nobody's way
yeah, KC can be rough
hard to get through a day
but today was like no other day I might know
when I saw a drug deal and found Jen dealing Blow

She was stylish, but under her Gap pleated slacks
was a bottle of X and cash bills by the stacks
in her car was a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc
but the wine? it held none, just a whole lot of Crank
in the silk inner pocket of her winter coat
was some animal tranquilizer and a baggie of Coke
her breath smelled of gin with some hints of green tea
when she coughed, she coughed remnants of cheap LSD

This was it, I said, "Ma'am, you will now come with me"
she just laughed and said, "Fool, I gots places to be"
then she straightened her hair and replaced her headband
and smoothed over a spot on her wool cardigan
then Jen sweetly smiled and gave me the bird
and said, "Son, you remember, this NEVER occurred"
she then showed me her Glock and I prayed once again
that I'd no more encounter the outlaw named Jen