Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Snow Stinks

Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale
A tale of long commute
That started from the snow bound house
At the end of the route
The end of the route

The mom was a mighty driving woman
Inside her yellow bug
The dad was a patient man indeed
The kids, they were snug
Like 2 bugs in a rug.

Two cars it took to get to work
Dad had a conference call
The work, it never really stops
The Q is a ball
Never miss a call

The plows, they worked awfully hard
But it was not enough
Those 2 hours are gone you know
Lost time is always rough
I could have been doing stuff

Next time I think I’ll work from home
The technology exists
It’s better than the salt and slush
Long Commutes are a *itch.
No kiddin’, a real *itch.

(Sorry about *itch. I couldn't find anything else to rhyme with exists. And, anyway, it really fits.)

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

good poem, I didn't know you were a poet. Mary

Busy_Woman said...

I was inspired by my 2 hour commute. In my head, it sounded a lot like 2 hour tour..