MoAnday
It’s that dreaded day again,
The one that follows what should have been,
The day that’s missing an A,
They day that should be MoAnday.
I want to wrap myself in paper towels
To avoid the thunderous scowls,
The rain of terror, “aren’t you done yet!”
As I sit on the coffee pot and try to forget.
Oh, where art thou my pride?
Oh, this Moanday I can’t abide.
Oh, you’re hiding in the paper towels, too?
What, now, am I supposed to do?
.
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#020623
Filed under 2023, humor, poem, poetry, poetry by author, Poetry by David E. Booker, writing humor
There once was a young writer in France,
Who for the New Year wanted to dance.
To get out of his rut,
Outside he did strut,
But forgot he was wearing no pants.
Filed under 2023, joke, joke by author, limerick, poem, poetry, poetry by author, Poetry by David E. Booker, writing humor
There once was a writer in a bookstore /
Of her novels, she wanted to see more. /
Up on the shelves /
She wanted them to dwell /
But first she had to do more than adore.
Booker's Blog 