Muse

It really is difficult 
to concentrate on flights of fancy
when plumbers are in.

Big boots blaze black trails
on carpets, loud, belligerent
sounds clump past my door

wafting pipe-perfume into my air.
Shoulder-tension and resigned thoughts
are the only way to bear such jolts.

Somewhere near my headache
the apple stretches and yawns
as the sound of a drill fights through the wall.

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