Monday, February 23, 2009


Procrastination tastes like a casserole
     of fridge-worn leftovers.
Pretend to ignore the mold;
What you can't see won't hurt much.
Add a bulging can of tomato sauce
     and too much garlic.
I know you can't finish it.
Neither could I.
Tomorrow's lunch --
     Leftover casserole.

I wrote that poem twenty years or so ago. Some things don't change much!

Too much stuff to do right now. Must get some leftovers off my plate before I do another REAL post. That next real one, however, will entail hula-hooping. And screaming electric guitar. And dancing Mennonites.

Till then!


pixiemama said...

I LOVE this poem.
A seasoned procrastinator myself...
Missed you this weekend.

JoyDad said...

I'll post a comment later.

AuntieS/ARatK said...

And I procrastinate by ignoring the leftovers on my plate in favor of blogs about Elvis Sightings and my cute and adorable nieces!

JoyDad said...

Ya know, if you do ever get around to writing that post, I think it may wind up being the only post on the whole entire Interwebz that includes hula hoops, screaming electric guitar, and dancing Mennonites.

If'n I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I might suspect it was a tall tale....

Anonymous said...

Speaking of tall tales, she's not even from Texas - citizens of which are famous for expanding the facts of a story.

Passing on the antsup, JD.

Anonymous said...

JoyMama, that poem was kind of... gross.

I sent you and Joy a hug via Mama Mara!