Procrastination
lives unfortunately...
Been procrastinating
again, and I am aware that I cannot keep doing this and survive (I know, sounds
dramatic - it is dramatic). So, all the pieces I've been working on congealed
to create this poem. It's okay, not great, but it is done and I am posting and
that is the most important thing for me right now! I hope you enjoy it - I
think it has a moment or two of humor.
“Procrastination” I’ve
adopted as my middle name.
But the fear I feel when
I practice sends my heart up into flame.
I say “I will!” I’ll do
something, but it somehow does not get done,
And it’s not that I’m
out screwing around and having a barrel of monkeys fun.
I’m up against the wall
of my unconscious, comfortable life.
Been recently bringing
upon myself a great deal of uncomfortable strife.
The emotional stuff is
just too raw to speak of at this time,
But the physical stuff
I’m up to bringing forward in more rhyme.
I fell while walking
with sisters on an Oakland trail’s stick,
Smashed boob and knee
and hip it was a very scary trick.
I crashed my car into
the car of Agent M’s Lacrosse
The FBI’s not so scary –
my cookies did not toss.
It was my fault I blame
myself, I lost track of the road
I had glanced down at my
i-phone to see a certain code.
The chest again got
singled out for trauma at this hour,
When air bag threw into
my heart its nasty big white flower.
I had been thinking of
visiting my friendly auto dealer,
I did not suspect it
would be so soon and upon the back of an 18 wheeler.
Six days have passed
since that grey day and between the cracks I fell,
My insurance company
forgot about my car’s unhappy hell.
No one has gone to check
its wounds to see if they can be healed,
Or if a death knoll will
be sounded and the fate of my rates then sealed.
But I will not give up
the hope that life will again be good,
As cell phone safely
sleeps inside the glove box as it should.
I am aware much more
these days of my procrastination,
My middle name will have
to change if joy is to be my station.
So just for now, this
poem must stand, though it is three days late,
A hope in my heart for a
middle name change and a decent auto rate.
