NO POEMS OF LATE

Coyote frets: the Muse
has been bringing him
no poems of late.
At which the Muse,
indignant, chides,
I brought you one
just the other night;
my gift went, shamefully,
neglected.  Constrained
to recognize the truth
of what she says, Coyote
remembers that he found
the scrap end of a poem
somewhere in the corner
of his mind and never
got to unraveling it.
I guess, he must admit,
my mind was busy
elsewhere.  I was not
paying attention.  Which,
tartly says the Muse,
is just exactly what
I'm always telling you.