The muse said

The muse said, “screw you, pal, I’m on strike.”

“I don’t have to bring you inspiration

 or schlep your dreams and

 I’m sure the hell not going to respond to your binding arbitration”

But I require your valuable services, I said.

The muse paused.

“Inspiration comes like a

 Mouse under the sink, tiny pellets and an unpleasant smell

A teenager in the basement howling about injustice in the Southampton Everton fixture

Last fall’s oak leaves a picket line along the easement

Satellite radio and concrete blonde”

The muse then said, “I won’t tell you what it means, I

Didn’t sign a contract and you don’t negotiate in good faith anyway.

Sift it as you see fit,

But I don’t care if you pull the larger meaning out of your butt”

The muse paused again.

“From what I can tell, pulling things out of your butt is a growth industry”

Are you through, yet?, I asked.

“Oh, I got plenty more. But I’m on strike and you wouldn’t understand the vector of sunlight through the vertical blinds,

the cocktail of lead and codeine,

the moral imperative of the self-congratulatory gesture,

the eye for the news hook ”

The muse smiled. “Good talk,” it said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take this call from Dolphin Temp.”