I Refuse To Be Hurried

Come in and type practical side urges me I laugh my petootsie off IT'S TIME! Type A screams in my ear I roll my eyes in disgust at being pressured Sixty-seven degrees outside today It lures me out, I sit in the sun In my largest Mumu, enjoying my fat cells Typing is for week days It is five-thirty on a Friday night Put your poems up! An inner voice screeches. I refuse to be hurried. This is almost gardening weather. I watch a monarch fly past; amazed at my ability to ignore myself.