Max

16

As I sweat and I sweat from the sun’s hot oppression
I wipe away droplets but not the depression

I sigh out of tune with the kids’ laughs of mirth
And notice instead that I’ve increased my girth

I’ve done nothing but sit on this darned light tan couch
Avoiding neighbors like some reclusive grouch

No movies, no beach on this lousy vacation
But really I’m sad about my motivation

The plans that I had for the summer to come
Have come to fruition like a nouveau riche bum

No books that I’ve written or even picked up
So I’ve buried my sorrows in too much 7-Up

Now summer’s ten weeks are nearly done
I observe as I see a mid-August sun

But… nothing stops me from writing all year
I’ll write snippets of stories there as well as here

I smile to myself with my epiphany
“I’ll write a book by December, just watch, you’ll see.”