In the Throws of Thursday...

So much to do and so little time, and yet I pretend I have all the time in the world. I can do whatever I want. I sit, sleep, watch meaningless TV until that moment. The metal hand ticks on too far. I'm late. I'm late and reduced to a worrying fool puttering around trying to get things in order. And why do I do this, you say? Why do I sit and be a ripe old bum on a log? Why don't I make a plan and watch the clock and pack the night before?
I'll never really know, but I just don't think packing early is in my DNA.

I wait and watch the big, red clock
I plot and scheme the unforseen

I hold my breath
I count and sigh
Until I hear the lullaby

I wish and plea, it just can't be
But to this date, resigned to fate

And so I put them on the floor
Resentment headed to the door

Just one more wish that won't come true
The light erases the trace of blue.