Another poem I wrote: Addict
Since the dishes are stacked to the ceiling and more,
pressed up against a cracking attic floor,
stressing out the framework of my ransacked home
clearly the time has come to write a poem!
Since there are toys and garbage everywhere
and snow is piled so high outside it scares,
and I've a sturdy shovel, and two gloves well-sewn
the time has surely come to write a poem.
It's time to write a poem, the cat is mad!
The fireplace needs some stoking, but too bad.
When I choose between a cup of tea
or watching football, I choose poetry.
When I espy the apple way up top,
instead I wait to catch a poem that drops,
even if the apple hits my mop
and smashes into sections of sweet slop.
Exactly because there is work to be done
and so many reasons to not,
the fact is writing poetry's fun,
and I'm inclined to jot
if only for a simple verse
before the chimney gets hot,
if only for a tiny while
before the bills get filed,
if only for a moment struck
before the garbage is chucked,
if only for a page or so
before I shovel the snow.
One more stanza, just one more
to keep the feeling alive
considering all the aging chores
are s'posed to be done by five;
(company coming over tonight
and apparently things aren't 'right')
and just so long as I don't put
a space between the lines,
I ought to be safe to write on
about how busy I'm,
even though right now is poetry time
until the period grinds
it to a full stop
and life reminds me
I'm hubby and pop,
and that I have to go look for a job.
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