Be-Mused

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The Muse of Poetry stopped by last week,
when the winds were cold and the weather bleak.
I was warm in the tub, almost snoring,
when I heard the damn front door bell ringing.
I had never before met a real Muse,
though it seems they had all come down with flus.
She wasn't at all what I'd expected,
and I don't just mean she was infected.
She asked if she could borrow money,
and her cigarette smelt rather funny...
She had been looking for a real poet,
but eventually just thought - 'oh, blow it!'
She whispered in my ear, warm and teasing,
and apologised for her wet sneezing.
We began writing about cheddar cheese,
but after a while she looked oddly displeased.
So we tried bricks and kicks and big bat eyes,
smells, bells, walruses and dry-rotting pies...
She suddenly said she needed a drink,
and left me sitting there to have a think.
Hours later, when my Great Work was done,
I left the room to see where she had gone.
Why hadn't she told me she was going?
She'd left the front door open and blowing.
She took my stereo and the tv,
but still I thanked God for poetry.