Poem: Professional Inadequacies

I picked up the drum and I could barely play,

once I made  a living from it.

The pen feels much the same, some days 

(ha! I call it ‘the pen’ I mean this – or  that – machine, all work saved to a drive, or put in the cloud, accessed from whichever machine happens to be spare).

Though I never (really) made a living (ever) off the pen – it was just my honest …