I'm Obviously Not A Poet

I began New Year’s Eve morning with a hot shower. Finally hot water was restored. Each morning, for three days I soaped up, grabbed my shower head and rinsed, fast. The third day, crying was a real option, crawling in the shower to rinse soap, using basically Barton Springs ice water.

 

Thoughts, warped, distracted me:

 

Ode to Misery

 

Frozen, cold, bull stuff, dang

Watch frozen sickles hang

Soap it, wash it, watch it freeze

Oh hot water, pretty please

You’re mean, cold water, and hurt my bones

Neighbors hear my mournful moans

Tired and cold

Or stinky and old

Choices, decisions I must hear

As I wash and scrub my big ‘ol rear

Thank you JLo, ARod too

For making New Year’s dreams come true

Hot water finally, for one, for all

Available perhaps, with just the right call

Grateful, warm, happy too

Be glad this didn’t happen to you

Suck it, cold water. Stay away

You’re never welcome to start my day. 

 

(I’m not bitter, just naked and cold.)