I find Monday mornings are the ones to avoid while driving Highway 95 in our city. People seem to be in a bigger hurry that morning than any other. Construction trucks with their trailers are speeding in both directions with commercial vans up the yin-yang.
Trash is flying out of uncovered loads bound for the dump, while young female drivers apply mascara at red lights. I’ve seen just about everything on Monday mornings, along with what appears to be more traffic accidents than on any other day. I’d like to see the LHPD statistics for that.
Unfortunately, I had to take my wife to the phlebotomist this past Monday and couldn’t avoid the hustle and bustle. Parked in the Sonora Quest parking lot, I used that spare time to compose a short poem, if you can even call it that.
It’s written from the perspective of someone late going to work in Havasu on a Monday, like the fellow behind me this morning.
“Monday Morning Blues
Come Monday morning, once again late.
Bearded coot in front of me is riding his brakes.
Fool goes the speed limit, and I’m in a rush.
Old codger doesn’t hurry while I try to push.
*****
I need a paycheck, unlike that retired geezer.
My gal loves nice things, do my best to please her.
I’d sure be great, though, not having to work a job.
Like when COVID hit, and the government paid us off.
*****
Where’s that dude going at this time of day?
Does he not know he’s blocking my way?
Stay home and play checkers, as grandpas should do.
Make a bowl of soft oatmeal that’s easy to move.
*****
My boss will be ticked, she’ll have my derriere.
Harsh words will go unheard as my head’s still not clear.
She’ll probably tell me I smell like the party.
Campfire and hot dogs, along with Bacardi.
*****
Enjoyed Lake Havasu, all Funday long.
Dancing to music until way past dawn.
I might make work on time if not for this creep.
Seniors, please stay home on the first day of the week!”
I like to write junk... 