Prelude to the March Competition

My Muse upped and left me, what can I do now?
Just because I had called her a lazy, fat cow.
(I really thought I hadn't said it out loud,
But after I did I felt sneakily proud.)

"The March competition is due, how to start?"
She said, "You've no chance, you're a boring old fart."
The theme is a sparrow;  she said "That's absurd!
You're useless without me, you talentless turd."

As she left for her mother's I put on a smile
Said "The queue for your job stretches almost a mile!"
At this lie she faltered, she'd come back to me,
But I burned my boats when I asked "PMT?"

So now I'm alone with a blank sheet of paper
I guess  I'll try winning this antique word scraper
The pen will be mine, I just know, I can tell.
An old, smelly feather stuck in an inkwell?