hot days

Nothing Of Real Importance

I have nothing of real importance to do today

Nothing urgent which I must get done

I sneak a peek out the window

Yes, it’s still sunny

There are still no movements to the palms

The paper said in could get to 90 today

Sounds just about perfect

So why so sluggish?

Why ya moving so slow, kiddo?

No answers come to mind

So best to just let the thought fade

But before I can the voice of reason pipes up

You could wash and wax the car?

No

You could finish touching up the paint in the bedroom?

No

Go for hike?

No, too hot

Ride your bike?

No and no

Go swimming?

God damn it, no

Fine, just be like this

At times you wonder why people call you a dick?

Now you have an answer

Well, if nothing else

At least write something

And make sure it’s good

Something you can live with,

You old cantankerous fool

Ok, ok, ok

I’ll try to write at the old typer

See what I can pound out of her

So I mix an old standby, just like Frank used to do

3 cubes, 2 fingers and a splash of water

Then I went and sat by that old bitch of a machine

2 hours and 5 drinks later,

I am still here

And I never did write anything truly great,

Nothing of any real substance

But there will days like this, I know

Never finish the next great American poem

No big prizes for the writing

Nope, not today

And actually, I only wrote one piece that whole time

And you just finished reading it

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

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