Bar-oque

bar-oke of inspiration,

I hear Concerto grosso no.6

on Galaxie television

just as the violinists fingers fly over the strings

one little week in which to try

to make it to the end of my manuscript.

fly little fingers fly

if you don’t, I’ll have to cry.

a different person supersedes the first, during this gifted  week

very few people are familiar with this entity

she simply does not speak

of the obsession that rules her days and nights.

and now, not  seven days left, but six

one week ago the same time seemed an eternity.

fly little fingers fly

for the love of God, please at least try.

if I may grow to be so bold

and make my fingers move as though attached

to some work house person of old

it doesn’t matter if they succumb to carpal tunnel

spare no midnight oil, as  the week shortens

and on the websites, everything is cached.

fly little fingers, fly

when you do, well… my, my.

Janet Bellinger c 2006