Milking the cow

I'll wind up with the NaPo X
if I can't think of fifty words!
I grab my pen, adjust my specs--
ideas flee like flock of birds.

Another poem on writer's block?
(I'll end up with a dreaded X!)
This subject stinks like dirty sock,
insults my readers' intellects.

But since I can't escape the hex
of time that flies when I'm not looking,
now to avoid the NaPo X
another whining verse I'm cooking.

I've less than half an hour now,
so wordsmith skills I have to flex.
I've learned to milk this poetry cow
just to ward off the dreaded X.