Seasonal Strike.

I have nothing to write about        
I'm in that hard spot between a soft place conundrum;        
Indeed, the same old dribble that's been said before        
in so many ways is clogging my thought process,        
my imagination.        
I am flooded with humdrum and this and that;        
a whole bunch of sighs with my hands folded and tucked        
under my chin and my eyes glazed over.        
       
I exhale, uninspired.        
I have no man in my life to speak of;        
nor do I have plans for the summer        
as it edges it's way closer to my front door everyday.        
I haven't the mindset to make plans        
so instead I do nothing but wait uninspired.        
   
The doors have been locked    
and the signs have been posted.        
"Closed until Autumn"        
I grumble to  myself thinking        
It should say,        
"Going out of business uninspired."