David Routledge

I ’ ve nothing to scribble and — no need to quibble — There ’ s VACANCY spelled out in caps In my upper storey , for which I am sorry , But that ’ s why I take these long naps .

See , here ’ s the plain truth : I ’ m long in the tooth , And “ blank ” is what ’ s left in my mind ; From here to horizon you can ’ t set your eyes on A thing , ’ cuz there ’ s boom-all to find .

What voices you hear , they don ’ t reach my ear ; They ’ re echoes of things long-since said ; That brilliant riposte , those bon-mots well-tossed , They ’ re long ago classified dead .

’ Gainst sabre and spear my guys knew no fear , My villains could slay in a blink ; Now they ’ re creaky and frail , with their medals for sale , Hoping someone will stand them a drink .

Those heart-rending sighs , their limpid blue eyes , My heroines used to melt hearts ; Now their looks are long fled , those eyes are like lead , And their photos are targets for darts .

So don ’ t search each niche in bookstores — capiche ? — In hopes of a title by me ; The rejections I ’ ve got , they keep me quite hot , In my fireplace , as kindling , for free .

Enter the 2024 ARTA Writing Contest and you could see your story in print .

Visit arta . net / writing-contest for full details .

DEADLINE

November 15 , 2024

SUMMER 2024 | 51