Tag Archives: humorous poem

Confessions of a Line-Crasher.

Confessions of a Line-Crasher 

Patience is not my forte. I put it on a shelf
and withdraw my impatience. It better suits myself.
I do not enjoy waiting for my turn in a store,
and bank lines make me want to barrel for the door.
I will not take a number when going out to dine.
I do not get my jollies from standing in a line.
Pharmacies and waiting rooms are simply not for me.
Let alone the airport queues when I’ve a need to pee.
If patience is a virtue, I fear I’ve flunked the test,
I think it is my birthright to go before the rest!!!


The prompt today was patience.

Those Time-killin’, Prescription-fillin’, Amoxicillin Blues

Judy and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day, #2
(Those Time-killin’, Prescription-f
illin’, Amoxicillin Blues)

For one long week, I wait and wait
for this cold to dissipate,
but such is not to be my fate.
Although it seems like it’s abating,
instead, it’s simply  incubating.
It’s only here to agitate.
It has me in a constant state
of paroxysm. At this rate,
I’ll cough myself to heaven’s gate!
By what means may I  eradicate
this uninvited guest I hate?
I steal its covers, palpitate,
disturb its sleep, excoriate
its surfaces and mentholate.
I leave doors open just to bait
its exit, and I educate
myself in methods to end this date–
wild to finally give the gate
to this unwelcome reprobate.

Unrested, shaking, light of head,
I pull myself out of my bed,
strip off my fevered dressing gown,
to make the long drive into town
to see my doctor for my check,
climb up the stairs, a wheezing wreck,
on time. But doctor’s one hour late!
As I sit and ruminate,
I fall into a sorry state,
thinking I need to educate
them on the way they operate.
I see the doc and hit the door.
As I drive to the Walmart store,
of energy, I have no more.
Fighting just to stay upright,
it feels like I’ll be here all night.
When one man cuts in front of me,
I’d like to give his back the knee,
but I resist and live with it.
Yet I admit i have a fit
when one more woman cuts the line.
I tell the druggist the turn is mine.

She bags my pills and I am off

with dripping nose and awful cough
due to my cold as well as strep,
shaking, dizzy, slow of step.
I make it to my car and drive
home through the traffic’s busy hive.
One hour, if I’m not mistaken,
it takes to drive what should have taken
twenty minutes. I’ve not been fed,
or medicated, yet take to bed
the very minute that I get
back home, fatigued and soaking wet.
Two hours later I awake 
to discover the mistake.
When that pharmaceutic villain
dosed out my amoxicillin,
she didn’t get the dosage right—
plus—I was 20 capsules light!
What’s more, she’d kept the damn prescription!
Yes.  I threw a small conniption
fit. I couldn’t order more
from any pharmaceutic store
without the script. And, as I’d supposed,
my doctor’s clinic was now closed!!!!!
That’s how, my friends, my day has gone
since I awakened with the dawn
after a few hours tossing sleep.
Read of it now and mourn and weep
over those pills sorely mis-boughten
by one who lies here feeling rotten!!

True story, un-exaggerated in terms of how utterly rotten I was feeling. Yes, it’s strep and the doctor is trying to ward off pneumonia, thus the second round of heartier antibiotics. which I’m going to have to put off taking at least another day until some kind friend (John?) goes into town and gets me a new prescription and the correct pills. The prompt today was incubate.




Once when I was younger, poundage was the thing—
as I obsessed about the growth calories might bring.
Every morning on the scale, I checked for extra girth.
Any extra poundage was how I gauged my worth.
But now that I am older, I check the mirror first
before I stop to weigh myself or slake my morning thirst.
First thing on my agenda, if I have the chance,
is to approach my mirror to have a daily glance.
Now every little wrinkle, every little line
viewed within my mirror brings a little whine.
But when I step upon the scale, there’s less there to regret.
If I’ve gained a pound or two, I vow just to forget.
For if I’ve found new wrinkles, all that I can say
is every extra pound I gain just stretches them away.


I wrote to this exact prompt four years ago, so here it is again. The prompt word today is wrinkle.

Just Beyond My Grasp


Just Beyond My Grasp

When I’ve passed a restless night,
to once more welcome morning light,
I do not leave a lover’s grasp.
No knitted legs need to unclasp.
What time on waking I can afford
is simply spent unwinding cord:
the earbud cord around my neck,
my PC power cord from the wreck
of pillows, comforter and sheet
that somehow, now, are at my feet.
My MacBook Air, just by my shoulder
has come unplugged and so is colder
to my touch. It won’t power on.
Then, when plugged in, my poem is gone.


This is part of a much longer poem written three years ago. The prompt today is grasp.

Lest the Love Affair End Too Soon


Lest the Love Affair End Too Soon

He’s so suave, my boyfriend Jesse—
trimmed and polished and so dressy—
that no one would ever guess he
lives in rooms so doggone messy.
Ties draped over backs of chairs,
spare shoes tumbling down the stairs,
underwear in places where
you wouldn’t think to find a pair
of  crumpled socks or BVDs.
Things piled wherever he might please.

Pizza boxes you’re sure to see
on the divan or Smart TV.
Pockets emptied where he wishes—
piles of coins in dirty dishes.
He’s smooth and debonair, for sure.
I cannot question his allure.
Ladies fawn on him,  and flirts
flutter eyelids, swish their skirts.
He’s charming and I don’t dispute
that he is terminally cute.

All those praises, I’d repeat,
but I would never say he’s neat!!!
So if you must, if you’ve the whim,
make a pass. Make off with him.
Hold hands in front of movie screens,
make love in cabs or limousines.
Meet him any place he chooses—
ski weekends, romantic cruises.
Go to Vail, Paris or Rome.
Just don’t let him take you home!


The prompt today is messy.

Market Day


Market Day

This day, alas, has dawned so hot
I’ve no need to be where I’m not.
I want to spend it where I can
be exposed to ice and fan.
Though I’m in need of countless things:
foodstuffs, videos and rings,
a hairbrush, pens and other stuff,
I do not need them near enough
to venture out into this heat.
I’ll sit here in the catbird seat
at least until the sun goes down,
then venture out into the town.


                                                          Would the real me ever publish a photo this rude????


They know my situation. They’re conversant with the fact
that while I was not looking, my Facebook page was hacked.
They commandeered my photos, made off with every friend,
made dumb statements in my name. The horrors never end.
Their “selfie” shots of me are rude. Wherever did they take them?
They’re all of me, but I assure you that I did not make them.
Now my time is spent explaining statements I didn’t make
to friends who may not realize this new site is a fake.
But the worst truth of the matter—the thing hardest to see
is that they like the hacked “me” more than they like me!


The prompt word today was conversant.