Spell Check Penelope or the Oleputian Muse Never Sleeps

Monk’s sandals in a daisy chain
flow like cream, nag me, nag me,
write yes, sleep no. Late night words
clog my pen like the pine needles
my neighbor stuffs in the weir.

A poem stings my hand. Spell check
Penelope lopes ole, ole, here and there
on the note pad. Glasses on,
glasses off, words roll behind my eyes
smooth as the stones we throw
in the ditch where the water
spills over the edge.

Oh, alright, two pillows,
two pills, 21 days into 30,
I’ll write you;
broccoli stalk, frozen bears,
oranges, oranges, toupee, swamp tree.