Time Drags On

It’s not good to start a poem
by looking at the clock,
tick tock, tick tock.

Time is supposed to fly by,
but here I sit wondering why
oh, why.

Perhaps, I should just shut down
the computer instead of sit and frown
at clouds gathering for a pour down.

Oh, my, there is the UP guy driving by.
I hope he will stop back by
with the new pair of shoes
I ordered and can’t wait to try.

Here he comes up the drive way
with shoe box in hand.
If you’ll excuse me, I have
a new plan.

Shoes fit, no return and no hassle;
they look good, casual without a tassel.

So here I sit wearing my new shoes
reading some poetry
by a poet making news
while I haven’t been struck by a muse.

There’s no rhyme, meter, no metaphor.
I don’t know why she’s making news,
and I’m not going to read her anymore.

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