Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
(I should be telling this with a sigh)
Stood at that fork and took it
Hey Yogi! Hey Raffi!
Look it! Look it! Look it!
You know what came next?
(What came next?)
A knife and spoon!
(clink, clink)
So I kept on walking down the road
With a fork-knife-spoon as my load

---

On Saturday I was supposed to go to a poetry reading. Mind you, I have done that only once before in my life and it was a terrifying experience. Thankfully an excuse presented itself and I bowed out. The friend who had invited me offered to read my poems for me. I gave her two — neither of which had been the poem I planned to read.

She messaged me later, telling me that the poems were well-received, that I was a rare talent.

To prove her wrong, I’m going to go ahead and publish last week’s tripe, my response to the W3 prompt. The POW gave a lovely challenge: to use 1-2 lines from Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.”

Unfortunately Yogi Berra infiltrated my brain regarding that poem. Yogi once said, “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.” It’s one of many Yogi-isms for which he is famous. Like, “It ain’t over, ’til it’s over,” and “You can observe a lot by watching.”

Suddenly, too, while writing, I was doing battle with Raffi, who kept singing at me (in my head) about a time he went for a walk.

Sheesh.

Sometimes the muses either just aren’t there or are a couple of clowns.

Anyone else struggle with this?