Poem: Writer's Block

the cat licking its arsehole

the beer is cold, the day

is old, the week of work behind

me, the cares of the world beneath

me – or to the left of me, jokers

to the right, very much the extreme right

actually. it never occurs to me that

there’s a difference between a poem, a

story, an essay or review – it’s all the same

day to me – when I get the chance.

this, thou…