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.