Meanie Muse

My muse is disobedient.
She doesn’t come when called;
She casually takes vacation
as I stare at paper, stalled.

My muse is inconvenient.
She comes when I’m unprepared,
shouting fine phrases into my brain
where they vanish, unwritten, unshared.

The brilliant sparks of poetry
won’t ignite at my decree;
I sit here voiceless, slave to her whims
as muse chuckles with devious glee.