Sometimes headaches happen. When
Acetaminophen won’t cut it,
Stuff a tub of aspirin in
The gapespace in your face and shut it
Carefully. N.B. Don’t swallow:
That could make your belly swell
Or even kill you, which is hollow
Victory when you’re unwell.
Rather, hold the bitter mawfull
Till you’ve counted up to fifty
And then spit it out. Tastes awful,
But the brief distraction’s nifty.
The race began but I, distracted,
“Where’d my Daisy go?” I wondered.
Someone pointed out I’d blundered
And the field had taken flight,
But I replied I’d be alright
As soon as I my Daisy’d found.
A ray of light illum’n’d the ground
And there she was: My Daisy fair!
A great pink bow in lieu of hair,
In low-heeled shoes, a blouse, no skirt,
Those long, lush lashes made to flirt,
My 2-D ddarling. Call me crazy:
Minnie? Me? No, gimme Daisy!
Same amount of time:
Flight from PDX to SAN;
Distracting rats in business suits
Is simplified through use of flutes
Projected from beneath a bridge.
Expensive? Well, perhaps a smidge,
But less than if the flutes were played—
The union fees are thus defrayed–
And after all is said done,
Who doubts that flinging flutes is fun?
And, should they whistle whilst they fly,
Well, someone more adept than I
At rat-distracting may object,
But my attention would be wrecked
Which reason counts sufficiently
To carry on (at least for me).
Our common goal, of course, is that
There’s more than one distracted rat
In businesswear attired, so
Let’s get to work: We’ve flutes to throw!
I just lost an hour
In browsing online.
Good luck saving daylight!
I’m finished with mine.
Robotically chastised for tardiness, I
Latch the gate, thinking, “Late again? How did this happen?”
I woke while the stars were still bright in the sky,
Feeling rested and sure I could squeeze all the crap in
That hounds and confounds me those mornings I get
Out of bed so bedraggled I’m brushing with coffee
And wondering why my pajamas are wet
(Could it be ’cause I bathed without taking them off? Gee….)
But not today! No, I was wakeful and ready
To take on the day with aplomb and élan
As I strode to the sidewalk, my gaze firm and steady,
No worries, regrets…nor with any pants on.
I filled the music box with Holes,
Mark Knopfler, Clapton, BNL,
And those I trust to play their roles:
Distract me on the road to Hell.
Both the Kings (B.B. and Carole),
Buffett (Jimmy), Matthews (Dave),
And everybody else who’s there’ll
Cheer me to my weary grave.
It’s not that they all want me dead
(At least, they haven’t told me so),
But with their music in my head
It’s easier to just let go
And tell myself I’m Born To Run
(And not On Empty, Jackson Browne).
Cool shade awaits me when I’m done
In Darkness on the Edge of Town.