Sunday, September 23, 2007
Driven to Poetry
This morning there was evidence of another nocturnal visitor, in the form of trash pulled out of the trash can, a piece of stale bread in the dirty clothes basket, and the loaf of bread moved several feet from where it was. All this fun has inspired me to poetry.
There's a possum in my panties
And a raccoon in the hall.
The air's so thick with sheetrock dust
We cannot breathe at all.
With saws and hammers screeching
And workmen everywhere,
They ask every two minutes
"Should this be here or there?"
You'd better not be modest
When you heed nature's call,
Doors? Oh, what a quaint idea!
They are not there at all.
Make coffee in the bathroom,
(Keeps down the restaurant bill).
And sometimes when the workers leave
We fire up the grill.
They say it will be worth it
When all the work has ceased.
Meanwhile this little possum
Lives out his fantasies.
Or as Shane might have phrased it:
The possum snuggles,
Pretending to be human
In silky fabric.
2 Comments:
enjoyed -- great Sunday morning laugh.
playing dress-up
instead of possum . . .
her visitor
LOL... you need to just write a chorus and send it on to Nashville...lol
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