I don’t like the words you want me to use –
at least not now, not now when I’m writing
under the gun and atop a concrete table
which under the best of circumstances I find too hard,
albeit less messy than a fir table with coffee fog and moonbeam trim
despite its built in shelf where you’d think you could readily dock your cup or canteen while you pen your prose or poems.

Hush now.
I have to write this damn poem.