(a casual facebook post this morning turned into a bonus poem for day 21 of Napowrimo)
Morning:
There’s a lawn to mow,
some errands to run,
and it’s record store day.
But first,
I must write a poem.
Evening:
I wrote the poem.
With a rebel yell,
I cried mow, mow, mowed,
ran those errands, and
shopped the record store day.
Now I’m home
lighting the BBQ.
It’s getting dark with
The Smiths:
The Queen is Dead.
