The Muse

The muse does not come
though all is set up, waiting.
The muse does not come
though my pencils are sharpened and my book opened
ready.
The muse does not come
though my desk space is cleared, and I look out over hills
and treetops....
though classical music plays, softly, in the background....
though my days are empty of chores...
though nothing, nobody, demands my attention
the muse does not come.
Bitch.