Knock Knock

{size:4.5I first heard the knock
As a sort of teeth chatter,
A distant tickling, clicking,
It never went away to stay,
But neither was it sickening.

As the years passed
My portfolio grew
With essays and poems
Of what I wanted to do.

The clicking and ticking
Turned into a whir
Like riding down the highway
Like a road that must purr.

I didn't hear anything
For a while after that
Not the sound of a pencil writing
Or a typewriter's clickety-clack.

The knocking stayed there
Planted in my brain,
"I'll work on it later,
Someday when we have rain."

But now the knocking won't go away
Sounds like cops knocking
When they think nobody has stayed,
Loud and strong,
Like the breaking of a chain.

I've tried to say,
"There's no one about!."
I yell from my heart,
I scream like a spout.
If the knock would subside
I wouldn't have to hide.
I would work off the clock
Regular as "tick-tock.".

So the knocking is there
And my keyboard is home
I wish I would edit
But I'd rather roam.
My book is knocking for edits
But all I do is groan.