(Is late really better than never?)
I am going to work in my mother's shirt, the shirt that I bought her:
"I >heart< NY"
(For _I_ certainly do not >heart< NY)
This wonderful shirt that barely fits
Though it says XL on the tag, I know
The last clean item of clothing I own
(and it isn't technically even mine)
Having dropped my medicine on the floor
Ingested the dust, cat hair, ordure
thusly collected along with the drugs
that keep me plodding along this course,
I know any minute I'll realize
that I'm really better off with a job,
so I'll drag my ass into work
Telling the boss it's PMS
(it probably _is_ just PMS, my
skin's broken out, my muscles ache,
the calendar claims the time is right,
and barring another miraculous birth
I should be bleeding by Friday night)
So where was I? Oh yes, going to work.
Goodbye little cat, get off my lap,
get away from the door, I have to go.
You've draped yourself over my arms as though
it makes a difference, but unless
you've dragged me a pot of money in
I have got to go to work.
>heart< ing NY in spite of myself,
achy and cranky and late again
I am going to work.