Frazzled Mimi-A Poem

By Miriam B. Medina

A day in the life of a writer can be a scary thing. We get lost in our thoughts all too easily. We are consumed by reading and writing and exploring our mind. Then we look up and realize... our house is a bloody nightmare, a swamp filled with clutter and chaos. This poem is about navigating this chaos to find a place, some time and the peace of mind so that we can do what we love best-- Write!

There was once a writer named Mimi, who lived in a house far too narrow.

Brimming with stories and history, poems and words filled her right down to the marrow.
Her house was packed right to the rafters, as books and papers filled rooms everywhere,
Her two dogs, her inseparable shadows, trailed behind her as she moved here and there.

She griped and she grumbled, as she tripped and she stumbled,
Over books growing like weeds in piles growing over her chair.
The huge paper mess, that was slowly consuming her desk,
Scarcely left her enough space to move around anywhere.
Finally at long last, the place reserved for repast, was the last place that she was truly able
To sit and pen words, as they occurred, the only space open was her dining room table.
There she'd sit and she'd write, much to her delight, she worked for as long as she cared
Whilst on the counter sat still, a pile of late bills, which drove her to the point of despair.
One day she looked all around, and very sadly she found
So many things that needed and she hoped someday to repair.
Then the dogs began barking, as they heard someone loudly knocking,
The scowl on her face clearly screamed: "Vendor Beware."
Damn! It was the landlord again, come to collect the rent,
She utilized her trusty pen, authoring him a check with a prayer.
Writing the rent was not fun, she realized her plight was unfair
She had more of this clutter and mess than should be her share to bear.
She gathered herself, determined and set, to face her fate with great haste
This mess was too much, but why make a fuss? Cleaning would be such a waste...
She stopped to make a drink, and take time to think, deciding she could write ANYwhere,
So why hang around, always losing ground, to this mess always getting in her way?
Piña Colada in hand, she decided to finally take a stand,
Smoothing tight rollers into her dark brown hair.
'A doormat I'm not: So to hell with this lot,
I'm leaving this mess and who the hell cares.'
Cocker spaniel and poodle faithfully trailing along,
She sped merrily along, bag in hand, she raced down the stairs...
She jumped in her car, spinning wheels chewing up tar,
Never to be heard from or seen again anywhere.

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Atta girl Mimi!! :-))))