I’ve been humming
the worst song in the world
for hours now
because I heard it
in a convenience store
when I was unguarded enough
to let it in and now it’s burrowed
deep. (There is a reason
they are called earworms, after all.)
The Nagging God
who has been an earworm to me almost from birth
repeats incessantly (in time to the beat)
that I have no one but myself
to blame for this. That if I’d been
a little more diligent and not stepped away
from my desk to go get smokes
and a very big and very bad coffee,
I’d be sitting at home in silence
with nothing to do but write something
much better than this pop-slop mess
I’ve got to deal with now.
Nagging God, I say, how can
pacing my room and procrastinating
and cursing my deaf muse
get me this level of punishment?
I wasn’t hurting anyone but myself
and now i’m getting downright
homicidal, suicidal, even
deicidal over this constant barrage
of alleged music inside.
God says nothing, just keeps singing.
anyone claiming divinity
be this off-key, I wonder…
which leads me to another
blasphemy and then to a sudden
heresy, followed by epiphany —
and wonder of wonders,
here I am with a symphony playing
out of the pen in my hand.