R’s Song for Gail

After too long of no pen
she tries to make a song
out of cold spring air
and dripping bush leaves
And she winds up with
drunken fingers
and a head that won’t work
(And the music on the radio
boasts onward the fact
that someone somewhere
wrote a song)
And so her pen scribbles away
at the paper between
the blue lines
And if she was a child
she would give you
her teddy bear instead