How to Treat a Muse, Partly
by Lawrence Miles

Lose the muse in a pile of dirty laundry
Walk the earth in search of another
Perhaps at the nearest Salvation Army
Or the seventh floor of the Hotel Chelsea
Where the gray New York City night
Turns into a Robert Mitchum film
Powered by the glow of the smoked cigarette
Doused by the first snowfall in over two decades

Amuse the muse at the local bar
Where the forty-somethings gather to celebrate
The last moment of their skin-color dominance
While you write vignettes about each and every patron
Tagging the female bartender as a lost angel
Listening to train after train after train roar by
Asking if you both can leap onto the next one
Hearing her laugh at your foolhardy soul

Fuse the muse with the heart
Thank your higher being for her existence
Bless the blues and whites…