Searching for inspiration at the end of a long day
as the pets sleep sprawled out in various parts of the room.

Today’s news brought no inspiration.
Today’s work brought no inspiration.
Toady’s commute brought no inspiration.

I look around the house
The drift wood and sea pictures hung on one wall
a painting by my daughter hung on another.

A spray bottle sits on the piano
next to a metronome, barometer
and a wicker basket of old tin cookie cutters;
there’s a story in there somewhere.

But I’ve seen all this time and time again.
Still I search for inspiration
lest this evening’s poem
sound too much like a writing exercise.