Rush

hurry

The son has misbehaved again at school;
the daughter strives to look a little worse.
December is too busy, dark and cruel –
until the solstice I must bear the curse
of working and performing in a role
I argue and resent with all my heart.
I wobble almost out of self-control
and can’t complete or savor any part.

So here am I, full laden for the day
with shopping, entertaining, office chores.
I sprayed the dog and then she ran away,
my glasses lost their temple screw once more,
and I’m so overloaded I could shout,
so stress and feet and syllables pour out.

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