Wacky Weekend Challenge
Tom abandoned his room in Dire Straits
when he left for the convention.
His dirty spandex boxer shorts
are begging for attention.
**** and bits of this and that,
UFOs of every kind (Unknown foreign objects)
are littering and piled so high
I fear for what I'll find.
There's a piece of wood with wormholes
resembling lunar craters.
I wonder should I try to clean
or call exterminators.
My head begins to throb, a pain
is drifting in and out.
The medicine Dr. Hammond prescribed
has not put it to rout.
I had insomnia last night.
It's hard to stay awake.
That gig of Tom's had better not
turn out to be a fake.
Our Rosie is in the kitchen cleaning
what appears to be nuclear waste.
Something is boiling on the stove.
I stop to take a taste.
My plans to wine and dine my friends
are going all awry.
Tom's mess has emptied out my brain.
I forgot to bake my pie.
Vacuum salesmen at the door
are just the final straw.
I throw my Listerine soaked tissue
saying, "Leave or I'll call the law."
Meanwhile my Tom is having fun,
my lazy, thougtless, spoiled, loved son.
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