December 29, 2009

This reads like beat poetry

Last night it was 34 minutes to midnight (bongo)

and Big Daddy was desperate to beat my score on “Perfect 10” (bongo bongo)

and there comes a cry from upstairs (much feverish bongoing)

I wait (bongo)

the dreaded five whole minutes (bongo bongo)

because I already have one that won’t sleep and am not eager to repeate that mistake (much feverish bongoing)

I chew my non-existant nails for five whole minutes (bongo)

and then race up the stairs to thump the butt of she with the rosebud lips and seashell ears (bongo)

And as soon as that one’s quiet her sister cries “owie” in her sleep from down the hall (bongo bongo)

and I am plagued (much feverish bongoing)

The speech therapist had caught her pulling on her ear and I watched all day with nary a sign of discord and now it was 20 minutes to midnight and “owieing” was going on and I just knew that we’d end up in the ER with a kid with a miserable ear infection before morning.

(extra long feverish bongoing)

But morning rolled around (bongo)

and no more owies (bongo)

only concern over the overly long pooping time of the newly acquired goldfish(bongo bongo)

Maybe the bullet is dodged.


Tied Up 2 Replies to “This reads like beat poetry”


2 thoughts on “This reads like beat poetry

    Author’s gravatar

    I’m laughing. The bongos had me. You should do some haiku. I’ll bet you would be good at it.

    Glad no ER. Sorry about long fish poops.

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