Tag: priorities

Priorities

Counting on my fingers
‘Til my fingers start to bleed:
I’ve cash enough for things I want
But not for things I need.
If grocery bills, utilities
And rent are paid, I’m haunted:
Shelter, food and warmth? Good stuff,
Just not the stuff I wanted.

Jack’s A Dull Boy

Script Frenzy Twenty-Twelve has gone
Like grass from an unwatered lawn.
My College Play was barely born
And won’t grow up before the morn.
The play’s not dead: I’ll finish yet
(Take that as promise or as threat),
But April’s output literary
Went to something much more scary:
One part of a pending book
For which triathlon’s the hook
And my tale’s, say, the worm’s hind end
Through which the reader bait’s been pinned.
So, Flopsy and Elena wait
Onstage until a later date
When I turn my attention back
To giving their shared tale a crack
At closure, which ’til now’s been hid
From them (and me). At least I did
Meet one deadline so far this spring,
And maybe this Tri book’s a thing
About which tens of readers might
Say, someday, “He did something write!”

Quid Pro No

The cat and dog both ate their food
And didn’t wait for me. How rude!
Don’t they know they’d go without
Those molded silhouettes of trout
And chickens in a dusty clump
Were I not here to scoop and dump?
And yet, each night at suppertime
They’re eager for dessert while I’m
Still trying to decide between
The cheddar cheese or refried bean
To microwave in my tortilla.
Guys? A little– …guys? …’kay, see ya’.

Full-Time Job

A quarter to eight when I run past your work
I look, then remember and feel like a jerk
4:38 — You’re not there for our walk
It’s just me and the dog in the park down the block
After my shower, say, 5:40-ish
I plop on the couch while you don’t prep a dish
For our dinner; three hours or so ’til you’d head
Up the stairs to the hole that you left in our bed

You leave for a week or a month or year
Then you’re shocked when you walk in and see the mess here
You think that I’m lazy and live like a slob
But not being with you is a full-time job

Saturday mornings you’d clean while I run
Meet your friend for a workout, return around one
The next seven hours or so we’re a pair
When you’re here; when you’re not, there’s a cavity there
Sundays we walk to get coffee and chai
Then hang the whole day, just a girl and her guy
If the girl’s gone the guy has to spackle the crack
In his schedule with something until she comes back

You leave for a week or a month or year
Then you’re shocked when you walk in and see the mess here
You think that I’m lazy and live like a slob
But not being with you is a full-time job

Rehearsal on Monday leaves 95 minutes
You’d be where you’re not. If I factor that in, it’s
Say, seventeen hours, plus Saturday’s seven
And sixteen on Sunday (togetherness heaven)
For forty full hours a week you and I
Are together; if life is a storm, that’s the eye
Without you I’m battered by whitecaps and wind
Barely staying afloat ’til your absences end

You leave for a week or a month or year
Then you’re shocked when you walk in and see the mess here
You think that I’m lazy and live like a slob
But not being with you is a full-time job