Truly I have missed the boat
A lump is forming in my throat
Bitter tears I may weep so
For I am lame at NaPoMo
What's the reason?
For this treason?
Is it the beautiful Spring season?
No alas the blame's all mine.
My aging brain cannot find rhymes.
But, honestly, my job, the stress
Has made my poetic dreams a mess.
I could not write, try as I must.
Knuckles has left me in the dust.
I do not have to spur me on
Vacation pics of tiny thongs.
My imagination does not lead me
To write of Alec Baldwin's wee wee.
But tomorrow I shall be on the beach
And my inspiration there may reach
Great heights, due to the waves that rise
And chips sold under the name of Wise.