Writer's Block

I can feel them getting fidgety

in huddled groups, making sloppy signs

and plans for picket line chants.
They’re sick of being used,
stretched, and sometimes sacked
if they underperform on the job.
They’ve had enough, and they’re
not going to take it anymore.

I megaphone my message:
Words are cheap! If you won’t do the job
I know where I can get a thousand more
just like you who will literally work for free.

What are you going to do? They mock.

Outsource? A collective guffaw ripples
around the periphery of the right side
of my brain. And the truth is I do need them.

Without words, I am alone in my silence.