Poetic Injustice

I sit with fingers poised over asdfjkl;
waiting for a metaphor to come to mind
that illustrates the way I feel.

Nothing happens.

I search my random access memory for
a keyword that will trigger a long-forgotten
experience from my childhood.

Nothing happens.

How is it the big-time poets can
always recall some prophetic image
that happened forty years ago?

With me, nothing happens.