You, you’re like a child
who is told not to eat before dinner
lest you spoil your appetite
but see the half-cake just sitting there
in its optimistic splendor
waiting to be despoiled
and to despoil you.

You are supposed to have a pen
beside your bed
for just such an occasion
when an idea
comes to you in the night
so you can cage it
on paper
before it flies away.
Your pens are caged elsewhere
and your thoughts fly free.

You, you are a stupid boy
who may be too old now
to learn to do the things
you were taught when young
and pliant
and capable
of enslaving a dream.