Ode To Absurdity

I thought I’d write an exquisite ode like marvelously well crafted code: a soaring flight to fancied flows, but that’s not how this clunker goes. You can’t out-sleep a five-year-old, or if you can, you’ll soon regret; you’ll wake in terror, blood run cold, with tortured thoughts of the limits of ‘yet’, leap from the bed in last night’s clothes. The moment that you hear the switch, the muscle fibers start to switch. The race is on, man, get a grip! It’s time for the morning bathroom trip. The pants are tangled, diaper’s locked, and all the while, she’s yelling, ‘poo!’ as time is racing off the clock, and nausea overcomes you at mental images of last night’s chips. Panic subsides, now to the chair, where yogurt meets fresh braided hair. Soon everywhere, it can be seen except, of course, the space between those pearly whites, loud screaming, “More!” Then off to her room; time to change. The bus at seven: hit the door! Ah, sweet relief.. Wait, what? How strange… the car clock says its only five fifteen.