Boredom (for Doeslittle)

Boredom (30th May 2008, 1.07am)

Here you go, Doeslittle!

I scribble the word:
Boredom,
try and make it fit.

Nothing rhymes with it,
apart from other words
with the same suffix.

Can I capture it,
that sense of missing
out on time?
Wasting it, waiting
for that inspired last line
as the rain hammers
against the head-high window,
and my confidence shatters
in the wake of no comments
on my latest offering.

Boredom:
trying to shape words
into works of fiction,
prose from the poet’s fingers
like blood from pumice stones,
scraping against skin,
resisting the urge to rhyme,
twisting in the chains
of longer lines.

Can I contain one word
in a poem, and do it well enough
to capture the attention
of fellow late-night scribblers
who say it can’t be done?