by Christos Polydorou

Right now, all over the world,
in houses rich or poor,
writers, famous or obscure,
are ignoring traditions of the world

in a very polite way, and are,
instead of lamb and wine and guilt,
rising themselves out of their beds,
only to emerge from kitchens a few minutes later,

with a cup of coffee and a couple pieces of
multi-seed whole wheat toast, to get a bit
of energy, to come back to their laptops
by their windows, to do their writing.

This is why writers will always say,
if asked, Why do you write?
I have no choice, they reply.
Everyday, I have to write something.