Why I Can’t Do The Prompts Today
I think I’ll be a morning grouch
and spend these hours on the couch
making lists of things for doing—
certain things that involve gluing,
cleaning, sorting, chopping, timing—
things that do not involve rhyming.
A sea of things I’ve been concealing,
chores that stack up to the ceiling,
divert me from acts of creation
with chores of limitless cessation.
Hobbies I’d rather pursue
put off by what I’ve gotta do.
Pay my house fees, cook the stew,
trim the bushes, find the glue
to fix the statue, sort my purse,
clean out the junk drawer, then rehearse
my poems for next Friday’s reading.
Fix my blouse. Restore its beading.
Answer emails, call the plumber.
Modern life is such a bummer.
Sometimes I think I exist
solely to check off a list.
At any rate, as I have ranted,
other parts of me recanted.
It seems I’m such a winsome elf
that this poem just wrote itself!!!!!!