I promised to edit your article tonight.

But I took a fateful pause for supper—
do you expect a proper review pending a shortfall of carbohydrates?

And I brought a poetry journal to dinner.

Such expansive pages—
on childhood mortifications, ambivalences of the long-betrothed,
eclogues of regrettable decays,
partisan explosions.

The wine may have set me off.

If these authors could spin their words out with such centripetal grace—
while settled in their paneled niches, interrupted by only
an occasional faculty meeting
or a wheedling petition from another poet heartily thumping out verses—
why could I not also invoke the Muse?

And the ephemeral visions called to me
over your exhortation for industry standards in data analytics.

I know I will fuzz awake from the wine-stained rebound before the proper beginning of the day.

I promise to edit your article in the morning.

Andy Oram
August 4, 2018

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