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!
