Hanging Out At Hugo House

 

4 Cliff bars in Seasonal Pumpkin Pie are in a pile
along with Still-Life vegetables past their prime
from a brochure about Gage Academy of Art.

There is a copy of Jhereg by Steven Brust with a dragon
hatching on the cover and there was the book
On Writing Blocks by Victoria Nelson that lay on the table

“Hit The Road Jack”drifts in from the front room
along with other Jazzy Riffs and the additional tapping
of computer keys as their accompaniment.

The Writers of NaNoWriMo are now gone:
either well-pleased by their Novel endeavors or
thoroughly depressed by their lack of progress.

Novel Writing on a strict schedule with a one month deadline
was not my idea of a good time, though as a discipline
it might work to break the logjam of thoughts.

We write in relative peace of this gray drizzly day
while outside someone “Whoops!”and “Whoops!” again
before his Whooping causes him to cough and curse.

Synthetic-Ice Skating rink set up, but there are no Skaters.
Even Bobby Morris Play-field is bereft of its usual ball-players
though it is not especially wet or cold out.

Hugo House is calm today with none of the usual
comings and goings of groups upstairs and down.
We are the only writers here for this space of time.

At our exercises ending, our readings shared similar themes seemingly picked out of the Gestalt by default or maybe it was
the benefit of being in a building built with words.

---Purple Mark 121011