Writer's Block

I was sitting under the pecan trees
With a laptop perched upon my knees
Thinking of something clever to write
But nothing came that was terribly bright.
 
A little black bird landed nearby
And appeared to look me straight in the eye
It seemed like he wanted to take a look
And have a read of my half-finished book
 
After he read my book for a bit
He shuffled his feet and did a shit
His little turd fell through the air
And hit my keyboard, fair and square
 
I took that as a message from above
So I gave my laptop a hefty shove
I decided that writing wasn't for me
And I fetched an easel and painted a tree.

Copyright © Richard Mason