Above the distance ambience of cars
That wafts in from the west-side Interstate,
The morning song of amorous blue jays spars
For my attention in this dawn’s debate,
But now construction noise from down the street,
The beeps of trucks or tractors backing up,
Intrudes and nearly guarantees defeat,
Despite the inspiring fragrance from my cup.
The day’s too far into its busyness
For me to hear the whispers of the Muse
Or hope this poem might achieve success
Except to sing the stymied poet’s blues.
But suddenly the ambient noise has paused—
So maybe my long labors won’t be lost.