writer’s chair shining

the rumbling of virus check
paces across midnight
time the tick of a clock
anticipation

she takes a stand
skinny font
bold lettering
they extend their hands

“in essence they fear a lion
but not a woman”

she opens the door too quickly
ripping her nylons
upsetting the word cart

oh, grin!

the conversation dissolves
the ever present sunlight
slightly fades her material

three cheers
to a flippant self
and to all whom she respects

at the sight of home
her raised brow
rises like a giant umbrella…
writer’s chair shining

by mary ann blinkhorn