That's my job

This is a poem I wrote several years ago. It was originally titled "That's My Job". Somewhere along the way, it changed to "What To Be".

What To Be

Thirty-six years,
Time to decide
What to be.

Wanted to be a teacher.
Loved school, sports, learning.
Studied education.
Too much red tape,
Bureaucracy.
Chokes to death.

Then business.
Eight years of corporate battles.
Didn't have
Sharper Image to climb the ladder.
Bodies in the way.

Now, a Mom.
My job.
Kids,
Housework, yard work, homework.
Low pay, great benefits.
Live for smiles, hugs,
Middle-of-the-night rocking
Nightmare-frightened children.

A teacher, after all.
Of Love, Communication, Caring 101.
Advanced instruction in
Fun, Freedom, Independence.

Watch babies turn into children
And beyond.
See where they're going.
Won't take long.

Then have to decide
What to be.

Why Can't I

It seems easy enough to do. You sit down and type. But when I sit, nothing comes to mind. So I read instead. I read other people's writing and sale notices and emails from companies that I don't want to buy anything from. Then I read books and newspapers. All these other people can sit down and put words together that someone else will want to read. So the question is, why can't I? I was watching an author (Steven King, I think) being interviewed on television and he said that amateurs wait for inspiration while the rest of them just get busy and write. So this is me, getting busy, writing.