My eyes grow heavy at the keyboard, here.

Outside the window the sky is drear.

I wait for my charge, net-surfing near,

And all I want is some sleep, today.

I write through no sparked imagination,

No helpful muse, no fascination.

Boredom is my inspiration,

Keeping impatience at bay.

A lifetime of factory work has drained

Someone once considered right-brained,

Rhyming and meter comes out strained,

As my attention starts to stray.